Forged in the Fire
by retirw
Summary: It's Richard the Lionhearted and the Crusades. This is the story of one of Vin's forerunners in time. A Falcon comes to Saladin's attention. A serious T rating.
1. Prelude

No matter what age their in they aren't mine. I just let them get out of the box occasionally.

I make no money off them in any way

* * *

Forged in the Fire

In the year of our Lord 1157 the pope in Rome declared a third Crusade to take the Holy Lands away from the Moslems. In the year of 1191 the city of Acre had fallen to the Crusaders led by Richard the Lionhearted of England. It was then that Richard ordered the death of 2,700 prisoners. By the time the slaughter was ended prisoners were being hacked apart by dulled weapons. Torture instead of a quick and merciful death. This was done in the name of Jesus a gentle carpenter from Nazareth.

Our story starts as the Crusaders march on to Jerusalem. The massacre at Acre had incited the Moslems to a fury. Many within the crusaders camp felt the action was without cause and lacked honor. The unrest and dissension created strife among the warriors from different factions. It was a dangerous and explosive situation daily getting worse.

Stragglers, the careless and the fool hardy were picked off by the enraged Saracen warriors. Atrocities on both sides were rampant. It was during this turbulent period that one of the Beloved was lost. A rare and most precious Draig-en was cast away by his bonded. Claimed by the Sultan Saladin the young draig healed. So things came to pass untold.


	2. Chapter 2

Forged in the Fire

The Sultan Saladin and his personal guards watched from a distance. A lathered bay struggled up the steep trail off to their right.

"A squire, he's little more than a boy," Saddam one of the scouts reported.

"He flees the Crusaders' camp. He seems distraught."

"Do not kill him. We will ransom him with our other captures," Saladin ordered. The started to mount up intent on the capture.

"Now where'd that one come from?" Hakim the captain of guards growled pointing. Eyes studied the new rider. The long limbed black horse was easily gaining on the exhausted bay. Coming in from a tangent he was intent on the squire.

"His horse is fresh. He must have been missed by our outriders," Hakim muttered. The Saracens waited and watched as the black's rider waylaid the boy. As the squire's exhausted mount struggled to the top of a hill, the warrior knocked the boy from the saddle. Anger was in every line of the two bodies as they faced off.

"It's one of those cursed bowmen," Hakim snarled spotting the bow hanging from the saddle.

"One of those hunters you can't seem to catch," Saladin chuckled. Hakim's continued tirades at their inability to stop or catch the hunters was a source of amusement for him. Suppressed laughter from the guards only added to Hakim's irritation.

"Look," Saddam grunted in surprise. Hakim's rant stopped in mid-word as they watched the hunter knock the squire down. Then as the squire rose he knocked him down once more.

Turning the hunter gathered the bay's reins and began to walk the trembling animal in a large circle. The boy came to his feet shouting angrily only to be ignored. Finally the yelling stopped. Head down with slumped shoulders the squire stood shifting from foot to foot. The bowman stopped as he reached the boy. The bay's reins were held out. A nod from the bowman and now the boy led his horse until it had cooled. Both horses were stripped and brushed out.

The squire flopped down on a rock seeming to radiate misery. Nudged by the bowman he accepted a cloth wrapped bundle. A gentle pat on the shoulder seemed to soothe the boy.

"Wiser than most of the cross carriers," Hakim grunted watching. The bowman had uncovered a hidden seap and watered the horses. He wore a dust colored robe and a turban with a loosed veil.

"Perhaps desert born this one," Saddam said thoughtfully.

"He covered the water again as is proper" Hassan a Lieutenant of the guards noted with a grudging respect.

"They are preparing to ride out My Lord," Hakim looked over at Saladin.

"Keep watch if they return to the Lionheart let them go. Many of the hunters have warned our people of danger. They have only hunted game and share their kill with the villagers," Saladin decided. "Of course they do seem to enjoy taunting you, old friend," Saladin grinned at his childhood playmate.

Long minutes later Saddam reported in "They ride for the infidels' camp".

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"My Lord their being pursued," a scout rode in fast.

"Who?"

"Mommar ben Sahid," the scout panted.

"Worse than those animals at Acre," Hakim spat.

"Better us than Mommar. We're closer Hakim. Take the infadels," the sultan ordered. Signaling his troop to follow Hakim raced off. Riding to intercept the pair before Mommar could overtake them.

Fleeing before the raiders the hunter spotted the second set of pursuers coming and changed direction slightly. It was a matter of timing whether they would make the camp or be captured. The two riders desperately spurred for the camp. It seemed they would reach safety avoiding capture.

Disaster struck and the game little bay mare went down under the boy. Pulling up the hunter slid from the saddle freeing his bow as he came. Before he could position himself he was overrun by the guardsmen of Saladin.

Sakim dove onto the bowman and a fierce struggle ensued. Fists, knives, feet, knees, elbows were all employed in the fight. The other guardsmen had dismounted and were attempting to secure the infidel with the least amount of damage to themselves. Hakim winced in sympathy at the sharp yelps coming from the pile of warriors. Curses filled the air while the Saracens tried to subdue the bowman. The twisting, writhing mass of bodies rolled over the rocky ground

Dismounting Hakim bent to check on the squire. A sharp yelp from behind and he was knocked from his feet. Somehow the hunter had freed himself. The bowman now sat astride the huge man's chest. It was all Hakim could do to hold back the infidel's wrist keeping the knife blade from his throat. It took six of the guardsmen to lift him off. They tried to keep him spread eagle and off the ground so he couldn't get enough leverage to free himself this time.

The enraged scream of a stallion filled the air and the bowman's black stallion charged. Releasing their hold on the infidel part of the warriors were now trying to drive back the horse. The obviously war trained the stallion seemed to be as dangerous as it's rider.

Taking advantage of the situation the bowman once more freed himself. Scrambling away from the guardsmen he stood guard over his fallen companion. Again the guardsmen piled on finally Omar slid a loop of cord around one wrist. Then with the help of Ari and Sahid they managed to bind both the man's wrists behind his back. They eventually managed to bind his kicking feet and tie them to his wrists. They backed off leaving him to struggle in the dust.

Hakim's pained squeal brought a smirk to the bowman's face and grins to his warriors.

"He bit me," Hakim cursed regaining his feet. "That black devil bit my ass." It had to be happenstance surely the horse really wasn't laughing at him. Although the whinny did seem to mimic laughter. Picking up the dropped bow Hakim reached for an arrow. "It is a shame but the stallion is simply to dangerous".

The bound bowman yelled in a strange tongue. Immediately the stallion settled, allowing itself to be led off by Omar. Hakim turned and began crooning in a strange language. Gently he petted the downed horse. A soft whisper of words and a knife appeared from seeming nowhere. He quickly ended the crippled mare's struggles. Wordlessly the blade was cleaned and replaced.

"Let's see about the squire," Hakim sighed bending to grab hold of the dead horse. Soon they had the boy free. A quick examination revealed nothing more than a bump on the head. Wildly the hunter began to fight the bonds when the youth moaned.

"I won't hurt him English," Hakim spoke in the Lingua Franca a mix of languages that was used to communicate between their people. The total lack of comprehension eased as Hakim calmly held the furious blue gaze with his own. _Like a wild born falcon this one. _The hunter stopped fighting as he watched how gently they handled his companion.

"A bump on the head and bruises," Hakim reported.

"Do you think he understands your words My Lord," Omar grunted nursing a sprained wrist.

"No but he understands my intentions," Hakim responded.

"So wild one, let us see what you've done to yourself," Hakim moved over to the trussed crusader.

"He's no knight," Sahid muttered indicating the lack of heavy armor and no personal device or coat of arms.

"A arms man then?" Ari questioned.

"No shield," Hakim disagreed.

"He was hunting perhaps the armor and shield were left behind," Akmid suggested.

"It is a fine stallion not one of the crusader's breed," Sahid indicated the beautiful animal.

"A crossbreed perhaps" Hakim said thoughtfully. The infidel flinched under the gentle impersonal touch as his injuries were tended.

"Nothing serious and surprisingly few hurts," Hakim looked at his men in disbelief. Not one of his own men had avoided some type of injury from the man or horse.

"My Lord, ben Sahid draws near," Omar warned.

"Jackal," Hakim hissed softly.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 2

"Give the infidels to me," Mommar's harsh voice carried.

"My Sultan ordered their capture. They belong to Saladin," Hakim stood up.

"There are few of your guardsmen here," ben Sahid threatened.

"Indeed the rest guard my lord Saladin," Hakim nodded to the rise behind ben Sahid. A line of horsemen were lit by the evening sun.

"I will give a gold coin for this one," ben Sahid dismounted and indicated the hunter.

"That is for my lord to decide," Hakim reminded stiffly.

"You have lead me a merry chase infidel," Mommar jerked the hunters's head up. Saying something in a unfamiliar language he roughly grasped the infidel's chin. Mommar swung his open hand to slap the infidel. A sudden shift and the hunter lunged locking his teeth around ben Sahid's thumb. A sharp yell and Mommar tried to shake him loose. Brutal blows to the head and shoulders seemed to have no effect.

"Kill him!" Mommar screamed finally jerking away holding tightly to the injured hand.

"He is mine thief. You are not welcome here. Leave now or die," Saladin's silky voice filled the air. No one relaxed until the raiders rode off.

"So what have you caught me?" Saladin asked his old friend.

"I haven't had time to find out," Hakim huffed. The sultan stopped all his attention locked on the icy sapphire gaze of the bound bowman.

"What is he?" Saladin hissed Calmly the hunter turned his head and spat. Akmid gagged and several of the guardsmen cursed. Mommar's severed thumb lay twitching in the dust.

"He bit it off," Hakim hissed in disbelief.

"ben Sahid should be more careful," Ari smirked. "The boy was simply informing him of the danger in putting —unwelcome— things in his mouth."

"What?" Hakim barked.

"Mommar threatened...he told the boy...his mouth was made for...Well he was lucky it was only a thumb," Ari blurted.

"Cut him loose," Saladin ordered sharply.

"My Lord," Hakim protested.

"Cut him loose," Hakim grumbled but cut the bonds. Distrustful the hunter moved back then stood. Studying Saladin for long moments he bowed his head slightly. Calmly he walked over to his horse he reached into a saddle bag. Pulling out a wineskin he rinsed his mouth then spat the liquid into the dust. Replacing it he then drank from the waterskin hooked to his saddle.

Moving over to his companion he checked the damage from his fall. Sitting down he waited, watching the Saracens intently.

"Let us return to our camp," Saladin ordered. A warning growl sounded when Hakim drew to close to the captives. Omar led the black stallion over and waited. Standing up the bowman tensed.

"Mount up," Hakim waved to the horse. Worried eyes dropped to his companion.

"Ari can you tell him that I'll hand the boy up once he's in the saddle," Hakim sighed. Ari spoke haltingly a moment. Shifting nervously the bowman scowled. Hakim lost patience and grasped the infidel's arm. Without warning the black horse struck. The big yellow teeth sank into Hakim's flesh once more.

"I'll kill that demon," Hakim hissed drawing his sword. A sudden weight struck from the right and the bowman's teeth clamped down on Hakim's forearm. Omar struck the hunter freeing Hakim.

"They are possessed," Hakim scowled in rage.

"You threatened the rider then you threatened the steed. They simply protected each other," Saladin laughed.

"Get on that spawn of a diseased camel now," Hakim snarled pointing at the bowman. A icy glare was cast his way before the bowman turned to mount. The big head turned and the black started to bite the bowman's thigh. A quick fist to the nose and the bowman was mounted. A harshly growled incomprehensible list of words followed.

"Ari?" Saladin asked the man as his grin widened.

"Much of it I do not understand. He said the stallion is not worth the copper coin he paid for it. Then he threatens the horse with shooting, skinning, drying the meat. Then he will buy a mule," Ari chuckled.

Hakim lifted the unconscious boy into his arms. Straightening he cast a dubious glance at the black stallion. Slowly the horse sank onto his haunches then stretched out his front legs coming to rest on his belly. Soundlessly the bowman stretched out his arms. Gently Hakim eased the boy into his companion's waiting arms.

"Get the boy's gear and bring it along," Hakim ordered as he mounted.

Finally the squire woke and grumbled anxiously.

"Sh sh Jaedee," the bowman crooned before his words became mangled.

"Jaedee?" Omar pointed at the youth. A sharp nod was his answer.

"My name is Omar ibn Fahad and you are?" Omar pointed to himself then towards the bowman. A silent stare was his only response. Long moments passed. Suddenly the hunter pointed up at a bird of prey riding the air currents.

"Falcon," a rough raspy whisper said.

"Your name is Fal-kin"

"Non, nomen est sombre et Falcon,"

Ari rode past and translated "Shadow his name means shadow of the falcon"

"Shadow," Omar nodded.

"I'll take Jaedee for a while," Omar held out his arms. A faint shake of the head and Shadow rode on pulling his robe around to shield the boy in his arms from the sun.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Saladin's Main Encampment

Saladin and Hakim sat under an awning in the camp. A board game that would later be known as chess was under way. Shifting uncomfortably once again Hakim stifled a groan.

"How is your bowman?" Saladin asked.

"He's not mine. The man is little more than a wild thing," Hakim glared into his old friends laughing eyes.

"If all of the hunters are as feral as your Shadow it is of little wonder we cannot catch them. You know we would have never caught him except for the squire's horse going down," Saladin noted softly in his silky voice.

"It has cost me dearly," Hakim grumbled shifting yet again.

"It is well the rider is more reasonable than the horse," Saladin smirked. Manfully several nearby guards' suppressed their snickers.

"It is not a horse the damn demon bit me, TWICE," Hakim protested.

"I saw," Saladin sounded ... strangled. "He only hurt your pride," the sultan comforted his life long friend.

"Pride hell! He bit my ass. I'll be riding sore for a month," Hakim hissed. A sudden gust of dust must have been responsible for the guards, coughing fits.

"Indeed you will be," Saladin sympathized some more. Hakim glared.

"The little shit bit me," Hakim snarled.

"I know Hakim, the mean black horsey bitted your butt ... twice," Saladin laughed aloud.

"The bowman," Hakim exhibited his forearm. A large bruise held the clear imprint of teeth centered in it.

"It's a good thing you wear a bowguard," Saladin remarked. "Such perfect teeth are rare," he admired the bite.

"I'm so glad you approve. The horse has excellent teeth too. Do you want to see," Hakim shaped.

"I'll take your word for it," Saladin snickered and fell back laughing hard. Soft laughter filled the area as the bodyguards finally broke down.

"Are you done now?" Hakim asked after several minutes.

"Yes forgive me old friend there has been little to find humor in these last weeks," Saladin sighed.

"No offense taken at least you enjoyed something," Hakim smiled ruefully. "I'm not doing it again no matter how much of a laugh you need though."

"So what should I do with those two?" the sultan asked looking towards the shackled captives. The bowman's head came up as if he could feel the gaze upon him. A challenging stare was returned. A protective hand came to rest on the still unconscious squire.

"Ransom them back to their knights with the rest of the captives I suppose," Hakim scowled. Saladin waved Ari his master of spies over.

"Go question the other captives find out who our bowman and his friend belong to," the sultan ordered. Bowing Ari turned to fulfill his duty.

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The dark haired one is Sir Bucklin of Wilmington's squire.

"Sir Bucklin is one of Duke Pierre of Larabee's by-blows," Hakim mused.

"As is the squire they had different mothers though," Ari reported.

"This Sir Bucklin tell me of him," Saladin commanded.

"A bit of a rogue but a loyal companion," Ari reported.

"He is landless," Hakim said quietly.

"The boy, how does this knight treat his squire?" Saladin asked softly.

"From all reports he truly loves him as a brother. Most say he will ruin the boy by holding back the discipline," Ari continued.

"Should we ransom him back to his knight?" Saladin asked.

"It would be best, the boy is foolhardy but his knight keeps him from harm," Ari suggested.

"Wilmington has no funds and Pierre will not pay to reclaim an unwanted son," Hakim said bitterly.

"Make the ransom low enough that the knight can meet it," Saladin smiled ruefully. "Now for the settlement of Hakim's bowman," the sultan continued.

"He is one of Sir Christopher of Larabee's Black Wolves," Ari reported.

"Sir Christopher is the Duke Larabee's heir," Hakim reminded.

"Those thrice cursed bowman of his are excellent warriors but no knights," Ari explained.

"This Shadow what do the other prisoners say of him?" Saladin demanded once more locking gazes with the blue eyed falcon.

"Perhaps a translator, mayhap an advisor even to the infidels the black wolves are foreign," Ari shrugged. "There are some who say the hunter is the knight's catamite as well. They spend much time together despite their ranks".

"I haven't really looked him over but those eyes are compelling," Hakim noted.

"I think Mommar's thumb twitching in the dust. Nipped any such thoughts in the bud," Saladin smirked.

"There are no reports of Sir Christopher ever having a male lover before," Ari noted calmly.

"A simple companion then. Set the ransom lower than the squire's," the sultan ordered examining one of his pawns thoughtfully.

"My Lord?" Ari asked in surprise.

"It would be a insult to the squire if we value a common bowman higher," Saladin explained his reasoning. "It would injure the boy's spirit if we did so". The sultan held the pawn gently in his palm.

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Two Days Later

"Well the captives have been ransomed back," Ari reported.

"The squire and the bowman?" Saladin asked curiously.

"Sir Bucklin yelled and ranted. He shook the boy a little then hugged him till the boy begged for air," Ari chuckled.

"The bowman?" Hakim demanded his voice was curiously flat.

"Sir Christopher never acknowledged him. When they left the bowman rode at his left flank," Ari frowned.

"A position of trust at least," Hakim sighed in relief.

"You liked the wild falcon," Saladin smiled.

"Glad to see the last of him," Hakim muttered unconvincingly.

"


	5. Chapter 5

Saladin himself sat on the hill looking down at the melee below him. Members of his personal guard had engaged a group of Larabee's Black Wolves. The Moslems had developed a grudging respect for the wild English bowman, most especially these who rode under Sir Christopher's black wolf banner.

This band of infidels had taken lessons from their enemies. As they became more familiar with this type of warfare they rapidly adopted the robes and veil of the natives unlike most of the Christian warriors. They all were clearly marked with the black wolf lest anyone mistake them for Saracens. Within weeks the men rode horses of the arab style. Now they effectively guarded the venerable flank of the heavily armored less agile knights from the Moslem warriors.

"They are Jinn," Hakim ibn Yusuf, his Captain of Body Guards panted as he rode up the hill from the skirmish below joining his sultan.

"Jinn," Saladin chuckled at his sweating friend.

"I think they are truly wolves," Hakim huffed avoiding his old friend's twinkling eyes.

"They're not jinn and not wolves, they're fine horsemen though," Saladin said thoughtfully.

"And better bowmen," Hakim admitted ruefully

"I noticed," Saladin grinned openly. "Call in the men I have seen enough".

"They're only playing 'Ladin," Hakim protested.

Each side was content to spar being careful to avoid injuring their counterparts.

"I noticed, but here comes the school masters," Saladin indicated a band of fast riding knights.

Hakim sounded his horn recalling his troops.

"Hakim, my friend," Saladin looked over waiting for the troops to rejoin them.

"Yes 'Ladin?" Hakim asked distractedly still excited over the little engagement.

"The arrow in your robe is ...distracting," Saladin grinned and waved at the offending arrow. Hakim snarled and pulled the arrow out.

"Too bold that Bowman," Hakim growled examining his robe.

"It was your Shadow," Saladin said before trotting off.

Hakim shook the arrow over his head glaring down at the Englishers. Laughter broke out when the black horse and his rider bowed low in response.

"I'll remember this," Hakim grinned and yelled down.

"Now, tha's a worry old man," Shadow yelled back.

"Old Man!" Hakim huffed as he drew even with Saladin.

"There is some gray in your beard," Saladin pointed out helpfully before racing ahead.

"Gray, GRAY!" Hakim bellowed loudly racing after his lord.

"Ah sorry old friend I didn't know. I'LL TALK LOUDER SO YOU CAN HEAR ME NOW!" Saladin yelled back before his laughter floated back.

_I haven't seen him play like this since Acre was destroyed. _Hakim smiled happily and raced after the laughing man.

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"These black wolves are everything the Commanders reported," Hakim said seriously as he sank into the bathing pool. Saladin nodded faintly as he soaked in the warm water.

"Yes, they are," the sultan finally spoke.

"Too bad their infidels. What we could do with these bowmen," Hakim groaned in relief as he settled.

"Those old bones bothering you tonight?" Saladin's lips twitched.

"Upstart Englisher," Hakim grunted.

"We need to keep them well occupied for any flank attack to work," Saladin said thoughtfully.

"Indeed, do you think it was deliberate Omar's girth being cut?" Hakim grinned mischievously.

"I'd wager on it," Saladin opened his eyes and laughed.

"Was it my imagination or was Shadow in command?" Hakim wondered.

"Today he was, it was not the full troop," Saladin reminded.

"He knew you were testing them," Hakim said thoughtfully.

"Yes, he waved farewell," Saladin chuckled.

"Huh," Hakim snorted.

"He will be most difficult to anticipate," Saladin sighed.

"Bad for us," Hakim agreed.

"He is a common bowman he will not have command in battle," Saladin reminded.

"Foolish to waste such a man," Hakim grunted in disgust.

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It was some two month's later that Saladin and his advisors discussed recent set backs.

"This cannot continue," Saladin growled.

He had seemed to aged years in the few weeks since the melee. Sorrow etched deep lines in his face. The loss of his sultana and unborn son in childbirth had broken the warrior's heart.

"They have changed their tactics these last two weeks," one of the commander's reported.

"How so?" Saladin demanded.

"They sent the Black Wolves into harass our rear. While the English long bows held guarded the flanks. They sent five flights of arrows into our companies."

"Duke Pierre?" Hakim frowned.

"No, his heir Christopher," the commander replied.

"The Drunkard?" a councilor questioned.

"Sir Christopher is proving to be much more than a violent drunken fool," Saladin tossed down a report on the last engagement.

"Ari what say your spies?" the sultan turned to his spy master.

"Sir Christopher is not the ill-tempered sot that left England. He seems to have recovered himself on the journey. He gained 6 companions on the journey," Ari reported.

"Companions?" Saladin asked.

"Once more he share's a cooking pot with Sir Bucklin," Ari listed.

"One of Duke Pierre's bastards," Hakim nodded.

"The Squire Jaedee, whom you ransomed back," Ari reminded.

"Yet another of the duke's bastards," Hakim noted.

"Then there are two of our old acquaintances," Ari chuckled faintly. "Sir Josiah and the healer Nathan are sharing a fire also. Then there is the peacock Sir Ezra heir to Standish."

"A wastrel that one," a councilor sniffed.

"Or perhaps a lion in disguise," Ari suggested calmly. "It is the sixth one I cannot understand," Ari looked bewildered. "He isn't even noble, Hakim's bowman."

"Falcon's shadow," Hakim corrected softly.

"He comes only to Sir Christopher's whistle this falcon," Ari reported. "I have discovered nothing of him. It is as if he truly is only a shadow. No one marks his passing. He doesn't drink, only with his companions does he gamble. An excellent hunter he divides his kill equally with the closest settlement. The villagers claim him as a protector. Very quiet he has a thick accent. How much of the Lingua Franka he understands is questionable. He may not understand the English or the French."

"This is all good and well but it has nothing to do with the new strategy and our losses," a councilor barked.

"It is not the Crusader's normal tactics," Hakim hissed.

"It is very effective though we loose so many to those thrice cursed bows," the commander fumed. "It was bad enough when the Lionheart led," he grumbled.

"Wait, Richard of England does not lead?" Saladin demanded.

"He has been stricken with a fever and lays a bed," Ari responded quickly.

"For how long?" Saladin demanded.

"Two we . . . , every since they changed tactics," Ari blurted in disbelief.

"Our answer is simple, we must get our honored enemy back on his feet," Saladin said thoughtfully.

"Better that he dies," a greybeard muttered.

"With the Lion in command they will return to their old tactics. The bowmen will be sent back to their places. England's king would say it lacks honor to use them thus," Saladin mused softly. "His knightly honor would require nothing less," the sultan smiled.

"In concern for his most honored enemy the Sultan Saladin could send his personal physician," Hassan the physician smiled gently from his place at the council.

"It could work," the commander brightened.

"If Richard dies, Hassan could be in danger," a councilor warned.

"A risk worth the taking," Hassan answered calmly.

"Such an important personage as Hassan ibn Mommar the personal physician to the sultan Saladin would require a bodyguard worthy of him," Hakim grinned openly.

"So they would watch the bright parrot and forget about the lowly dove," Saladin agreed. "Let it be done".


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

It was late morning two days later that the healer Hassan with a bodyguard of 11 men rode down to the waiting knights.

"You're the healer?" A coarse featured massive blond knight demanded.

"I am Hassan healer of the Sultan's household," the physician sat regally upon a fine gray mare.

"You will show respect leach," the knight snarled raising a massive fist to strike. A flashing blade sang from it's sheath pausing only a hair form the knight's throat.

"The physician Hassan is under my protection, you arrogant son of a diseased camel. YOU will show respect for my Sultan's emissary," Hakim hissed.

"Surely your master is shamed by such a poor servant," Hassan said mildly addressing what appeared to be a herald. "You may take me to the Lionheart now," Hassan suggested. He completely ignored the fuming knight and Hakim.

"Pardon the knight's insolence my lord Hassan. He is newly arrived and ignorant of the rank of a healer of your abilities," the herald soothed ruffled feathers. "Sir William, my lord Hassan holds a rank equal to that of a duke or bishop among our people," the herald chided gently.

"My pardon," the knight growled backing away.

"By the prophet's beard a simple bath might cure the English king," Hakim gasped in Aramaic as the odors rose around them. The closer they came to the encampment the worse the odors became. Hassan's scowl deepened as he studied the filth and refuse tossed between the tents.

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"You have turned the camp on end," Hakim chuckled several hours later. Hassan had immediately ordered Richard bathed, the tent cleaned thoroughly, bedding washed and boiled. All drinking water was to be boiled. Several teas had been prepared and poured into the king. "Tomorrow I will have them move the pavilion. A different location will at least get him away from the filth," Hassan sighed tiredly as he mounted his horse.

"We are expected to stay in the camp," Hakim reported.

"More filth," Hassan groaned.

"I've had the children cleaning the tent for us," Hakim grinned. That explained where the other guards were.

"So where is this tent?" Hassan asked.

"Our guide, my lord," Hakim indicated a well dressed page.

"Led on young one," Hassan ordered gently.

Hakim felt the watcher's presence turning in his saddle he studied the shadowed area between the tents. A subtle movement and the watcher shifted into view. A heavy outer robe hung open over tan colored doe skin breaches, soft knee high boots and a loose fitting brown tunic worn till it was almost rags, his head was uncovered revealing an intricate braid. The intensely blue eyes seemed to glow in the dimness.

"One of Sir Christopher's wolves," the page whispered faintly.

"A bowman then?" Hassan said thoughtfully.

"Not properly trained to their place most of them can not even speak a civilized language," the page scowled.

"Excellent bowmen my sultan has noted," Hakim spoke.

"A few beatings would soon teach them their place," the page sneered.

"Their place?"

"They're arrogant, ill-mannered and put themselves above their rank,"the page huffed.

"As are some children who have never faced an enemy," Hassan said mildly. The page blushed and ducked his head. "Barbarian and ill-mannered perhaps but fine warriors all the same and worthy of your respect. There is much you could learn from them," Hassan chided gently.

Hakim made a traditional beduin salute towards the shadowed figure. Two fingers touched his brow in a return salute from the watcher before he slid into the shadows.

"Respectful the Black Wolf," Hassan noted in Aramaic. "Wise these black wolves to dress for the desert."

"Wise yes, foolhardy definitely," Hakim agreed.

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Several days later Hassan sat with Hakim in the shade of an awning studying the camp. "What do you make of them? Hassan asked nodding towards the seven men rubbing down their horses.

"Sir Josiah and Nathan are as they were. The squire will make an honorable man if he survives. The rogue intends to make certain he does," Hakim said thoughtfully.

"Indeed, Sir Bucklin is more than a simple rogue," Hassan nodded thoughtfully. "What do you think of Sir Christopher?"

"Intense he reminds me of Saladin. This is a most dangerous adversary. It is good that he is not the duke yet," Hakim grunted.

"Standish?"

"A fox that one," Hakim chuckled. "One would suffer much underestimating him".

"And Tannah?" Hassan asked.

"Tannah?" Hakim looked over.

"It is what they call your shadow," Hassan answered.

"He's not my shadow. He is the most dangerous of them all," Hakim said thoughtfully.

"Tannah?"

"The others their knightly code would stay their hand. If Shadow decides it is the best way he would hunt you down like a gazelle," Hakim warned.

"A bird of prey," Hassan muttered.

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Ten days later Hassan sighed in exhaustion as they sat down to eat. "The fever seems to have finally broken" he said.

"We can go home," Hakim brightened noticeably.

"No I want to wait another seven days to make sure the fever does not return," Hassan replied softly. "What news today?" Hassan asked as he began to eat.

"Another child was murdered. This time it was a page. The eldest son of the Count of Montclair," Hakim reported.

"Like the others?" Hassan stopped eating.

"Yes they have a demon walking among them," Hakim growled harshly glaring down at his plate.

"What other news have you?" Hassan asked.

"The Black Wolves are not in camp," Hakim finally spoke.

"Like smoke those bowmen," Hassan frowned. "Where have they gone?"

"Rumor says Antioch," Hakim replied.

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Over the next ten days two more pages were murdered. The camp was in an uproar as they searched for the killer.

"With the guard they have kept on us we are the only ones not looked upon with suspicion," Hakim snorted. Tension was high and only a tiny spark could set off an explosion. King Richard was making a rapid recovery. Hassan and Hakim agreed it was time to leave.

"I must take my leave of the Lionheart then we may shake this dust from our robes and ride home," Hassan smiled in relief.

"We will leave from there," Hakim agreed.

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Patiently Hakim and his guards waited for Hassan outside Richard of England's pavilion. A screaming mob suddenly erupted into the open square fronting the pavilions of the kings. Hakim ordered weapons drawn and waited tensely. It soon became apparent it was not his people being threatened.

"Osam what is it they yell?" Hakim demanded.

"They claim they have captured the child killer," the guardsman translated.

Hassan and King Richard exited tent just as a bloody Tannah was thrown down before them.

"What is the meaning of this? Hassan yelled at Hakim in Aramaic

"The mob says he is the child killer," Hakim barked.

Time after time Tannah struggled to his feet only to be driven back to the ground. Shocked the Moslems watched as Sir Bucklin struck and kicked his 'friend'. Jaedee looked on in frozen horror. Sir Josiah and Nathan pinned a cursing struggling Sir Ezra between them. Josiah stared pensively at the action. While Nathan seemed to project satisfaction.

Once more Tannah struggled to his feet stretching out a hand towards sir Christopher and the Lady Mary, widow to the Earl of Travis' heir Stephen. Sir Christopher's eyes were icy as he turned away leading a smug Mary away.

Hassan gasped as blue eyes caught his. The sapphire eyes held the bewilderment of an unjustly punished child. The gentle healer moved towards the bowman. Hakim roughly jerked him back.

"It is none of our concern old friend the mob will kill you too," Hakim hissed.

A brutal blow from Wilmington's fist knocked Tannah down. A sickening crunch as he kicked the downed man in the head.

"It is dangerous you old fool," Hakim growled.

"This one is worth the danger," Hassan calmly patted Hakim's arm. "MY LORD RICHARD!" Hassan raised his voice.

"Who calls me," the Lionheart demanded bringing an uneasy silence to the mob.

"It is I, Hassan the Physician," the healer answered calmly. The mob moved back leaving the Saracens, King Richard and the crumpled body.

"What is it?" Richard asked quietly.

"Give me this man," Hassan looked down.

"You could have great wealth for your healing of me," Richard reminded harshly.

"I have wealth oh king," Hassan responded. "He interests me never have I seen eyes of that color".

"He is a rapist and murder of children," Duke Pierre of Larabee protested from the edge of the crowd.

"He would wear a collar," Hassan spoke to Richard ignoring the other man.

"He will most likely die," Richard reminded.

"A test of my skills then," Hassan said thoughtfully.

"Take him then as payment. Leave now and ask for nothing more of me," Richard ordered.

"So be it written, so be it done," Hassan agreed.

"Take your hands off of me," Sir Ezra's voice carried in the now silent area. Jerking free of Josiah's grip he angrily straightened his garments while glaring at his companions. Stalking forwards he studied Hassan.

"Allow me," Ezra sighed. Removing his expensive cloak he gently wrapped Tannah in it's folds. "God have mercy my friend," he whispered.

"He's a good man no matter what these fools claim," Ezra glared at Hakim.

"He did not kill the children," Hakim agreed gently as he picked up the broken body.

"I will hold him while you mount," Sir Ezra offered holding out his arms. Hakim quickly mounted and took the pitiful burden up before him. Silently they rode out of the Crusaders' camp.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Will he live? Hakim demanded softly. The Saracens had made camp as soon as they were safely out of the Crusaders reach.

"Only Allah knows," Hassan answered distractedly. "He fevers already. So much damage, he is strong though perhaps he will live. He is a puzzle this boy. He is much more than he seems," Hassan frowned thoughtfully. "So many scars."

"Scars?" Hakim asked.

"Make yourself useful hold his leg here I need to set the bone," Hassan ordered. Hakim looked grey but manfully held the limb as the leg was manipulated. "Most likely a limp for the rest of his life," Hassan sighed sadly. "If only I knew more".

"You do your best my friend that is all God asks of any us," Hakim comforted. "Shackles?" Hakim traced a scar on a slender wrist.

"Yes there are signs of past abuse as well, whip scars he wore a collar at some point," Hassan said flatly.

"A criminal?" Hakim muttered. "Is this what I think it is?" Hakim traced a scar on the exposed shoulder.

"Yes it is a bite scar," Hassan said sadly.

"The man must have been huge," Hakim grunted.

"No the boy was small when it happened. He was perhaps five or six years," Hassan disagreed. Hakim looked up in shock. "Yes he bears rape scars as well".

"Why do you keep calling him a boy he is a man grown," Hakim muttered.

"He is perhaps as much as 16 but I doubt it highly," Hassan disagreed. "Did you notice his hair? It is almost weaving the intricacy of the braid. The hair clasp is gold Hakim. This is no common bowman at all," Hassan smiled gently his eyes danced. "I think the Crusaders will deeply regret the loss of this falcon.

"Hassan?"

"If he lives I think our young charge will peak the sultan's interest," Hakim smiled.

"Nothing interests 'Ladin these days," Hakim grunted.

"An unjustly condemned youth, heartbroken and quite rare," Hassan grinned.

"The sultan can be quite tenderhearted," Hakim brightened.

"And he has an eye for beauty," Hassan smiled mischievously.

"Beauty?" Hakim looked down at the swollen and discolored features.

"He is heart stopping under all those bruises," Hassan smirked.

"Take care of our prize," Hakim patted the bare shoulder and rose.

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"So how fares our bowman?" Hakim asked the next morning as they prepared to ride out.

"He lives," Hassan sighed. "He still has not woke. I fear he is in the dying sleep."

"Not woke at all? This is not good," Hakim growled.

"Not good at all, his skull is cracked in three places. He has had 6 seizures already. The fever could kill him. Both arms are broken as well as five ribs. There are more bruises then clear skin. The broken leg and a cracked pelvis, There is blood in his waste," Hassan listed harshly.

"Hurt inside then," Hakim muttered.

"He is even more rare then I believed. Come and look," Hassan ordered.

"Is he alive?" Hakim asked looking down on the far to still body.

"Of course he's alive. Look at this," Hassan lifted a long fingered hand.

"I do not ...6 fingers?" Hakim gasped.

"Then there is this," Hassan very gently moved some curls aside revealing the ear.

"Is he a Jinn?" Hakim gasped.

"No not this little one. It is an attractive little defect is it not?" Hassan smiled as he traced the pointed tip.

"Is there more of your surprises?" Hakim grunted nervously.

"A tattoo, help me move him to show you," Hassan ordered.

"A ownership mark?" Hakim questioned the tattoo.

"No it is too well done this took months perhaps years to do. Identification yes, a slaves mark no," Hassan disagreed.

"I have never seen such colors before," Hakim breathed in awe at the artwork.

"A dragon why does that seem so important," Hassan scowled. "Something about the dragons."

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The bowman yet lived when they reached the palace. Hassan carefully settled his patient into his quarters. Hakim went to report.

"Hassan sends his regrets my lord," Hakim bowed.

"Where is he?" Saladin scowled. "Was he harmed?"

"No my lord he has a patient he will not leave," Hakim soothed.

"Then this mountain goes to Mohammed," Saladin stood up and stalked to the door intent on Hassan.

"Your too thin," Hassan snapped as the sultan entered his apartments.

"I have no appetite," Saladin muttered acting much as he had when Hassan had fussed when he was just a boy. A pained cry distracted Hassan from continuing his lecture.

"Praise God," he breathed rushing into another room. "The fever has finally broken," Hassan looked up with a wide smile.

"He will heal now then," Hakim leaned against the door frame.

"Head injuries are tricky," Hassan shook his head. "This is only the first battle. The fever, head injuries , seizures he could never wake or be damaged if he does," Hassan warned.

"Like Tuka?" Saladin spoke sadly remembering a childhood friend.

"Yes mind damaged," Hassan sighed. Resettling the bowman he urged the others into the main room.

"The Lionheart gave you this man?" Saladin ate distractedly when Hassan set a plate before him. Hakim and Hassan exchanged pleased looks as they fed their lord.

"The old fool asked for him when he was offered riches," Hakim huffed. "A condemned man,"

"Condemned for what reason?" Saladin paused in mid-bite.

"Murder," Hakim replied softly.

"Falsely accused," Hassan retorted. "Your own spymaster says he was at Antioch at the time the Count's page was killed".

"I didn't say he killed the child. I said he was condemned for the crime," Hakim huffed defensively. "It is the bowman 'Ladin," Hakim said.

"Your bowman?" Saladin gaped in shock.

"Yours now," Hakim reminded.

"He was the younger Larabee's confident. I imagine he learned much," Hassan said calmly. Speculative looks were exchanged. "Only time will tell if his broken head still contains any information," Hassan reminded. "It was for this reason I claimed him for you my sultan".

"You offer him to me," Saladin studied his old teacher closely. Most gifts from Hassan had deeper meanings.

"Of course," Hassan smiled faintly.

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Almost 6 weeks later Saladin watched from his balcony as the clearly agitated bowman shuffled cautiously hands outstretched as he traversed a short distance in the garden below.

"How is he?" Saladin asked Hassan.

"He still has the fainting spells and the sick headaches. The seizures seem to have stopped. He doesn't admit it but he is in pain most of the time," Hassan reported.

"His eyes?" Saladin asked softly.

"There is no change he is still blind," Hassan said sadly. "His arms are healing very well. I fear he will always have the limp though. He learns very quickly. I can not decide if he has truly forgotten his past or he hides inside himself," the healer continued.

"He remembers nothing?" Saladin straightened.

"The fever, the injuries, right now he is simply a frightened child. A very charming child," Hassan admitted.

"Is this possible?" Saladin demanded.

"At this time he seems very much like Tuka," Hakim muttered uncomfortably.

"Will he remain so?" the sultan asked sadly remembering the falcon's challenging stare.

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Hakim burst into Saladin's private quarters closely followed by the spymaster Ari. "'Ladin the infidels failed to hold Antioch and have fallen back to Red Rock," Hakim blurted.

"This is totally unexpected," Saladin straightened at the balustrade. Quickly the two men joined him on the balcony.

"The dispatches said the left flank collapsed," Hakim reported scanning the just delivered dispatch.

"The left flank? Where were the bowmen?" Saladin demanded sharply. Hakim read the dispatch closely.

"There were very few archers and none of the Black Wolves," Hakim said in disbelief.

"Where was Sir Christopher?" Saladin wondered.

"He was on the front along with his knights," Hakim read further with a frown.

"So where are the cursed bowmen?" Saladin demanded worriedly.

"This dispatch is asking the same question," Hakim lowered the report.

"Ari what say your spies?" Saladin gestured to the unopened dispatch.

"Allah has blessed us," Ari breathed reading the first lines. "There seems to be a great uproar among the infidel camp. The Black Wolf"s bowmen claim that Sir Christopher has broken faith with them". Saladin hummed thoughtfully leaning on the banister and looking into the garden below. "They cast down his banner and rode out to take passage for home," Ari hissed in disbelief.

"They scorned Larabee's Wolf?" Hakim gasped.

"They more than scorned. They trampled it under foot as the rode out. They fired on the troops King Richard sent to stop them," Ari blurted.

"An uproar indeed," Hakim muttered.

"What is your part in this I wonder," Saladin breathed looking down as the slave slowly limped along the path below.


	8. Chapter 8

Many thanks to those of you who have reviewed. Keeps me motivated so unashamedly. "Might I have some more please?"

Thanks for the laughs and keeping my feet on the ground Pookwana and K. T. The Opinionated.

They don't belong to me. Never will.

_Italics means it's thoughts. _//Back slashes mean telepathy or it's close cousin//

Foreign words are translated at the bottom of the page.

* * *

It was after the evening meal that the old healer Hassan appeared at Saladin's private apartment door, the infidel slave at his side.

"Hassan, come in. What brings you here?" Saladin looked up from his board game.

The physician walked in heeled by the infidel. Moving over to the pair Hassan studied the board silently. The bowman knelt at his left side. "Good, very good," Hassan praised reaching down to stroke the loose curls gently.

"My Lord, Saladin. I have brought your new slave. He no longer needs my healing. I have been calling him Shadow." Hassan spoke in an unusual manner.

Curious dark eyes studied the bowed head. This was the first time Hassan had brought the bowman out of seclusion.

"Shadow, can you say hello?" Hassan coaxed softly.

Shyly the bowed head rose. The fine features were partially hidden behind a curtain of loose hair.

"He is healed?" Saladin found himself ducking his head trying to get a clear look at the bowman's face.

"He limps, cannot see, and still has an occasional seizure. These things are in God's hands now, I have done all that I know," Hassan sighed stroking the slave's head.

"How old is he?" Hakim asked in disbelief at how very young the once inviolable bowman now seemed. At Hakim's words the slave pressed tightly against Hassan's leg hiding his face against the old man. A white knuckled fist rose to tightly grasp the old healer's robe.

"Hush, be still little one, that is Hakim ibn Yusuf. He's your master's Captain of Guards," Hassan soothed. "You need to answer now."

"Hello, Thir." A faint whisper was heard. Slowly the bowman's head turned revealing the wide unfocused sapphire gaze. "I'th four," the bowman held up four fingers proudly before turning and hiding his face once more.

Startled eyes lifted to Hassan, who simply nodded sadly.

"Come here, little one," Saladin ordered gently.

Through much gentle coaxing and several judicious bribes of sweets the sultan soon had the 'boy' 'investigating'. Long fingers traced Saladin's face and beard and soft snuffles indicated the child was 'seeing' his master.

"Do you understand what you are boy?" The sultan halted the curious fingers with a gentle hand as they began to investigate the nearby chess pieces.

"I'th Thadow." The guiless face lifted.

"Do you understand what a slave is?" Hakim spoke carefully watching intently.

Cheerfully the boy named a number of the palace servants, mostly those in the service of Hassan.

"Do you know what that means, boy?" Hakim scowled. A frown drew the boy's eyebrows down and white teeth chewed a moment on his bottom lip.

"No," the child ducked his head nervously.

"It means you belong to Salah al-Din Yusuf," Hakim answered roughly.

The old healer glared at Hakim for his rough handling of such a delicate situation. Saladin seemed at a loss on how to proceed.

"Like an Abba?" the boy asked happily.

"Hell." Hakim paled, unable to bring himself to hurt the trusting child looking toward him.

"I will take care of you for long as you need me." Saladin smiled pulling the damaged 'boy' into his arms. "Will that be alright with you, little one?"

"You won' make me drink that tea?" the boy whispered loudly.

"Only if Hassan says it is absolutely necessary," Saladin answered with a faint smile.

"Tathteth nathty," the child pouted.

"It most certainly does," Hakim said wryly.

Saladin turned loose of Shadow when the boy squirmed to be set free. The three men settled into a comfortable conversation and the chess game picked up where it had left off. Gradually the boy began to move further and further away from the trio as curiosity overcame shyness and he began to explore his surroundings. At least one pair of eyes tended to linger on the boy throughout the evening to make certain he stayed out of trouble. An occasional smile would light dark eyes when the excited child made a new discovery. After several hours the boy's explorations slowed.

"I'th tired," Shadow announced, flopping down and yawning widely.

"You are? Then you should sleep," Saladin smiled faintly, noting the heavy eyes and the childish rubbing of fists over eyes.

"Alright." The slave stood and made his way to the door.

"Shadow! Where do you think you're going?" Saladin barked.

"Bed," the child pressed back against the door, his eyes wide at the angry voice.

"My Lord, he meant no disobedience, he has a bed in my quarters it's where he has slept his whole life," Hassan reminded quietly.

"I shouldn't have yelled," the sultan sighed, moving over to the frightened boy. "Don't Wander off. That is a bad thing to do. I would worry if you wander."

"I be good." The bottom lip quivered and the wide eyes filled with tears.

"Come here and sit down for a moment." Saladin gently guided the boy back to the table where the other men sat.

"You need to make arrangements for your Shadow," Hakim pointed out.

"I know that," Saladin scowled irritably. "He needs supervision."

"He needs a nurse, not some bully," Hakim protested. "He's little more than a baby." The two friends got into a spirited debate on what Shadow needed.

"Children!" Hassan interrupted much the way he had when the pair had quarreled while in the nursery themselves. "That is for tomorrow. Now you need a blanket," the old healer snickered.

"He's asleep?" Hakim growled in disbelief. The slave was kneeling just as Saladin had left him, his chin resting on his chest. Long damp eyelashes rested on tear-stained cheeks.

"Why did he cry?" Saladin asked faintly.

"You yelled at him. He tires easily and he hurts most of the time. You had him up past bed time." Hassan reminded.

Wordlessly, Hakim stood. Reaching down he lifted the slight figure into his arms. "Are you going to make him a pallet or do you want him in your bed?"

"I'm not interested in bedding him," Saladin growled.

"Of course not, he's a baby," Hakim glared back. "He must be getting senile! Known him his whole life, I have, and he's never looked at a man! Like he'd take advantage of you," Hakim huffed to his burden. "Look at him standing there flopping his jaw about. He looks like a camel. Let's put you to bed little one," the big man turned back the blankets, gently stripped the boy down and slid him into the sultan's bed, showing remarkable skill in handling the limp form.

"You're awfully good at that." Saladin stalked over.

"Practice." Hakim grinned widely and winked.

"With all those brats of yours, of course you have practice." Saladin refused to get into a discussion about women with his friend.

"How many children do you have now?" Hassan demanded

"Nineteen," Hakim preened.

"See? Practice," Saladin snorted.

"Of course, lots of sheet turning to make babies," Hakim smirked.

"So you must have finally gotten over that too fast off the mark thing," the sultan sniffed derisively.

Any retort Hakim started to make was cut off when Saladin continued, "Of course most of them don't look much like you."

"Of course not, since he adopts every stray he comes across," Hassan added fuel to the fire.

"Are **any **of them Hakim's?" Saladin's dark eyes danced with laughter.

"You know eleven of them are," The big Captain snapped. "I **really** hope your Shadow is a bed wetter," Hakim grinned evilly before dragging Hassan out of the room with him.

"Hassan? He isn't is he?" a concerned voice carried down the hall after the two hurrying men.

"He is only **four**, my sultan. He's been doing very well _lately,_" Hassan snickered before calling back, exchanging amused looks with Hakim.

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Saladin smiled down at the sleeping boy, moved from Saladin's bed, now curled up in a pile of pillows and tangled blankets. _So much for all my work to make him a comfortable pallet_ _to sleep on. He does seem happy enough now that he's arranged things to suit himself. Who'd believe that the Sultan of Sultan's was fussing over a slave boy's bedding. I really need to find something more suitable for him tomorrow. I wonder if Neti would like to be his nursemaid. She seems so lost now without Roxanna to care for._ _That will wait for tomorrow, as for now it is late._

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Saladin awoke and grasped the hilt of the dagger hidden beneath his pillow. He lay silently listening intently for the noise that had awakened him.

"Shadow? Boy, are you ill?" Rising quickly the Sultan lit a lamp and looked toward the pallet. _He's crying! By the prophet how does one deal with tears? _Saladin groaned.

"Sh, sh, Little One. What makes you cry?" The hardened warrior knelt down beside the pallet.

"'Ladin? You here, you here," Shadow choked in disbelief and relieved joy. Desperate arms were wrapped around Saladin's neck.

"Of course I'm here," the uncomfortable man gently pried off the clinging child. Saladin began to rub soothing circles on the sobbing boy's back. "Now what has upset you so?"

"I was bad . . . I gotted . . . lotht . . . I didn't . . . mean to . . . wand . . . er off," the boy gasped through a fit of hiccups.

"Ah, is that it? Shadow, you weren't bad. I made you a bed here in my chamber. You stayed right where I put you," Saladin sighed, pulling the boy close. He rocked until he heard Shadow's breathing settle out.

"Not bad?" a faint little whisper carried.

"You weren't bad," Saladin promised.

"You mad at Shadow?" the worried little boy asked.

"No, I'm not mad," the sultan hugged his charge just a little tighter. "Are you alright now?"

"Uh huh, I'th thirthty," Shadow rubbed his nose against the nightrobe then lifted his head off the comforting shoulder.

"Alright. A little water then back to sleep," Saladin ordered gently. Stifling a sigh the Sultan took in the runny nose and the . . . slime coating his shoulder. _At least it's not the other end. _Looking around he spotted a cloth lying on the floor near at hand, the boy had dropped it while playing earlier. "Blow," He ordered holding the cloth to the runny nose. _How do women deal with this?_ Saladin winced at the noise and mess his slave gifted him with.

"Gotta go." Shadow suddenly looked desperate.

"Up you come, first you take care of business, then we'll get your drink," the Sultan steadied the wavering steps as he escorted Shadow into the other room. "Wash your hands," Saladin reminded. Picking up a cloth the sultan washed the stains off the bowman's face. _If Hakim says one word come morning . . . I'll make him a . . . **EUNUCH**. _Taking Shadow's right hand in his left Saladin led him back to the pallet.

"Drink," Shadow reminded with a sniffle.

"Here's your drink." Saladin smiled wryly as he helped support the sleepy boy's cup.

"Thank you . . . What doeth I call you?" Shadow asked.

"We will decide tomorrow. Now go to sleep," the protective man sighed.

"Night." In a breath the slave was asleep in his nest.

_Now to change and wash up. Mindeel, I need to order more mindeel. _Saladin yawned widely making a mental note for in the morning.

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Mele -the sultan's body servant- entered the bedchamber just before dawn. Spying the empty bed he glanced around the room searching for his missing master. A worried frown wrinkled the old man's forehead when Saladin wasn't found.

"My Lord?" the old man spoke aloud.

"Mele, get over here, please." Saladin's voice sounded somewhat desperate as he called to his servant.

Circling the bed, the old man's eyes widened, taking in the unheard of situation. The sultan lay in a pile of pillows and twisted bedding, and the new slave was sprawled belly down with his head resting on Saladin's chest.

"At your service my lord," Mele calmly watched as the increasingly desperate man tried to free himself.

"We'll have to wake him. I hate to do it, he had a very bad night," Saladin dared the old man to tease him.

"Bad dreams?" Mele moved, trying to see more of the mysterious new member of his 'family'.

"Night terrors. True memories I think," Saladin gently stroked the boy's scarred back. "Help me up, the sunrise's and it is time for alfajru."

"He doesn't want to turn loose of his 'Huggy'," Mele smiled openly at his lord's predicament.

"Do something," Saladin growled. At the old man's censoring look and the tapping of his toe Saladin sighed and muttered something faintly.

"I didn't hear you, oh Sultan of Sultan's, Eagle of the Desert, Defender of the Word," Mele's dark eyes twinkled.

"Please help me you old . . . most wondrous of servants and tutor of manners to this most unworthy student." Saladin widened his eyes innocently.

Mele leaned down and ran gentle fingers down the youth's side. The boy began to stir when Mele repeated the motion. The boy grumbled and turned over protecting the ticklish spot. Mele carefully slipped a pillow into the grasping arms before the boy woke. "It used to work on you. How do you think I ever got Fluff washed?"

Saladin rushed from the bed, flushing at Mele's teasing grin.

Once the morning prayer was over Mele served breakfast. "This is too much," Saladin protested.

"Hakim will be here soon enough," Mele huffed.

Mele stood puzzled, looking at the pile of discarded nightrobes. "My Lord, perhaps a visit to Hassan is in order."

"I'm not sick. The boy . . . cried a lot. His nose . . . " Saladin trailed off at the old man's look.

"He wiped his nose on you did he?" Mele grinned. "Keep a towel at your bedside for now, toss it over your shoulder for those times. It will save on laundry."

"I was going to see if Neti would be interested in taking him on," Saladin muttered.

"She most assuredly will be glad to help. The boy trusts you," Mele let concerned eyes rest on his beloved charge.

"I need someone to watch over him during the day. He will stay here at night. Does that please you?" the sultan asked gently.

"What, please me? Another ungrateful scamp messing things up and getting into trouble, needing his nose wiped and his behind paddled! How would such a thing please me?" Mele demanded grumpily.

"Because you'll have another boy to teach, Old Father. If he reminds you too much of Tuka I will make other arrangements," Saladin hugged the still grieving father.

"Hassan says this boy's heart is strong." Mele's voice trembled.

"Very strong," Saladin agreed.

"The place would fall down around your ears without me. A little boy?" the old man's grumbling faded into a wistful whisper.

"A little boy. A very charming little boy," Saladin agreed once more, rocking the old man comfortingly. "One who is going to need much instruction. He has no manners what-so-ever. Hassan has been far too lenient with him. I'm going to need someone to teach him proper manners," Saladin noted softly.

"He's going to need watching, trouble likes little boys. Neti isn't as young as she once was, she's going to need help." Mele stepped back straightening his clothes, dignity now restored.

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Hakim soon arrived to share breakfast with his old friend. While they ate, Hakim gave a report on the nights happenings.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Mele reprimanded the big captain.

"Excuse me . . . please," Hakim swallowed the half-chewed bite. Automatically he ducked the unseen swat.

"I taught you better. What kind of example to your children is that?" Mele growled.

"I do better at home . . . honest," Hakim said earnestly.

"Then do better here. Children learn best by example." Mele glared.

"Does this mean we can keep him?" Hakim grinned happily looking toward Shadow.

"You have to take care of him. See that he's fed. Clean up after him. See that he gets plenty of sleep and exercise," Mele ordered.

"I promise," Hakim answered.

"Shadow is a person, not a stray dog that Hakim has drug home," Saladin scowled.

"Not that much difference," both men answered.

"Both have to be taken care of," Mele snorted before gathering up the dishes.

"Hey, I'm not done," Hakim protested.

"Yes, you are. You're getting fat," Mele sniffed walking out.

"Do something. You're the ruler," Hakim demanded, looking at Saladin.

"I'm Sultan. Whatever gave you the idea that I'm the ruler? Do I look like a fool to you? He still carries that switch you know," Saladin grinned at the reason for most of his childhood switchings.

"Do you think perhaps Shadow will distract him?" Hakim asked in a very innocent tone.

"One little boy? When your pack of wild ones can't?" Saladin asked in disbelief.

The two men sighed, stopping their bantering to begin discussing the true business of the day.

* * *

Arabic

Salah al-Din Yusuf - Saladin's true name in Arabic form

Abba - Father affectionate form i.e. Daddy or Poppa

alfajru - dawn prayer

mindeel- handkerchief.


	9. Chapter 9

Many thanks to my muses, Pookwana and K.T. the opinionated. Special thanks to Duchess67 for betaing this.

* * *

Shadow sat up rubbing his eyes. "Haththan?" he called nervously fingering the blankets covering him.

"Awake at last, Shadow?" Saladin moved over to the nest.

"Thir? I'th where?" A bewildered, almost frightened look was on the boy's face.

"My quarters, do you remember coming to see me last night?" The sultan spoke soothingly.

Shadow unconsciously chewed on his lip for a moment, in deep thought. "'Ladin?"

"Yes, I am Saladin," the sultan answered in a kind tone, glaring at the widely grinning Hakim. The sultan stroked the long curls, fascinated with the varied shades of blond, red, brown and a few hairs of pure silver, found in the silken tresses.

"I 'member bad dreamth, you made 'em go 'way," the boy answered, obviously relaxing at the soothing touch.

"Are you hungry, boy?" the sultan asked.

"Yeth, Thir," Shadow's answer was emphasized by the growling of his stomach.

"Mele," Saladin called.

The old man stepped into the room.

"Awake is he? I'll bring something for that empty belly of his, then," Mele muttered and left the room.

"Mele?" the boy asked hesitantly.

"He takes care of me," Saladin muttered. "And now he will help take care of you."

Shadow's expressive face showed trepidation.

"It is alright, boy." Hakim rose and walked over. "He growls much, but would never harm you."

Shadow flinched, then calmed quickly once he had identified the strange voice. "Hakim, 'Ladin'th Capt'n."

"That's right, little one. I'm Hakim," the big warrior squatted down beside the now kneeling boy.

Saladin and Hakim exchanged puzzled looks, as Shadow leaned forward slightly and snuffled the other man.

"His eyes don't work. He's identifying you by scent," Mele informed them as he placed a bowl on the table. "Have either of you fools taken him to empty his bladder? Little boys can only wait so long you know." Mele huffed, noting the boy's anxious shifting.

"Up you come," Hakim hurriedly helped Shadow to his feet and escorted him into the other room.

"I should have realized," Saladin sighed.

"You'll learn. You do not spend enough time with your children." Mele chastised the younger man.

"Yes. I should know my own children," Saladin agreed softly. _By the prophet, I need more hours in the day. So easy to allow the harem to raise them. Has it been so long that I have forgotten the sting of my own father's neglect? _

"I big boy, can go by mythelf," Shadow's voice rose in protest from the other room.

"Hakim?" Saladin asked as the sheepish Captain of the Guard walked back in.

"I forgot what a big boy Shadow is and tried to help him," Hakim shrugged in embarrassment.

"Oh," the other men chuckled at the big Captain's sheepish look.

"I forgot how independent they get at this age," Hakim growled. _By the prophet's beard! I truly forgot he's not a child. _The big captain thought in disbelief.

The infidel slave reentered the room. Pausing at the door, Shadow cocked his head and clapped his hands once, he seemed to listen intently for a moment. His nostrils flared as he appeared to sniff the room. Once satisfied he boldly strode across the room to the waiting breakfast.

"He tests his surroundings, good! No shuffling about for our boy." Hakim said proudly.

"Nothing must be moved from its place," Mele said thoughtfully.

"Yes, here at least he will be able to move freely," Saladin agreed.

"Did you wash your hands?" Mele asked sharply as the boy sat down and reached for the bowl.

"Yeth, Thir," Shadow's hands jerked back from the bowl and were held out for inspection.

"Very good," Mele's voice held a smile as he inspected the boy's hands. "Go ahead and eat, child," Mele ordered.

Shadow grasped his bowl and proceeded to shovel in the sweetened gruel using the fingers of his left hand.

"What do you think you're doing?" Mele thundered.

The bowl fell from Shadow's hands at the raised voice, as he dropped down and curled up, head to the floor. His hands protectively covered his head as if awaiting a blow.

"Mele, you should not have yelled at him," Saladin's voice was carefully controlled. "I told you Hassan has taught him no manners whatsoever. Shadow must be taught that the left hand is unclean and must never be used for eating."

"Shadow, Mele didn't mean to scare you, little one," Hakim crooned. He approached the boy slowly. "He didn't mean to yell," Hakim soothed as he knelt down and gently stroked the bowman's tense back.

"Want Haththan, pleathe thir," Shadow whispered. "Hurtth."

"What hurts?" Saladin asked as he moved over to the boy and gently began working loose the fingers now locked in the long curls.

Hakim growled and grabbed the bowl of cereal sliding it into place just as the boy began to heave.

"How'd you know he was going to do that?" Saladin asked in dismay.

"The way the muscles in his back were working. I've cleaned up after enough of my own to recognize the signs," Hakim gagged, but never stopped gently rubbing circles on the bowman's back. "This isn't right," Hakim muttered as the muscles tensed and began to quiver.

The hovering Mele, wordlessly placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Lay him down on his side. Send a guard to find Hassan, NOW!" the old man ordered sharply.

The two men immediately moved the boy away from the table and laid him on his side. Hakim frowned, but went to the door and sent a guard after Hassan.

Mele was hurriedly moving objects away from the too still form.

"Mele?" Saladin asked softly.

"Sometimes Tuka would quiver, before a . . . seizure," Mele's voice caught.

First, the trembling appeared in the slave's hands, in moments his whole body jerked violently.

"Don't let him roll to his back, he could strangle," Mele's voice was calm as he quickly left the room.

The seizure lasted only a few moments, but to the men helplessly watching, it seemed a lifetime.

"Let me clean him up," Mele appeared with a basin of warm water and a soft towel.

Saladin moved back, letting the old man take his place.

"I am sorry I frightened you, child," Mele murmured softly as he washed the boy's face. The sapphire eyes seemed to wander in an attempt to locate the voice. "I need to teach you how to eat properly. What was that old fool Hassan thinking? Letting you eat with your left hand, you'll get sick.." Mele crooned as he settled the youngster.

"Tadig? Shadow questioned faintly. The voice was not that of the child.

"I am Mele," the old man answered.

"Leland?" the bowman's voice rose in distress.

"Easy boy, you're alright now," Hassan rushed in and dropped to his knees by his patient.

"Gilgald," Shadow sighed and attempted to wrap his uncooperative fingers around the old healer's wrist.

"I'm here," Hassan crooned.

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"He will sleep now." Hassan straightened with a groan.

"I never intended to cause him harm," Mele said miserably.

"Your reprimand most likely had nothing to do with the seizure," Hassan comforted his old friend.

"What did?" Saladin demanded.

"Anything, everything, or nothing at all," Hassan grunted. "They happen."

"He seemed different after," Hakim noted.

"Sometimes he has . . . matured somewhat after a seizure," Hassan explained. "Not always, though."

"The words he called?" Saladin asked.

"Names I think," Hassan grunted. "He never remembers. I seem to be Gilgald, though."

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Mele, sat working on his household accounts, while he kept watch over the sleeping slave. _Saladin and Hakim grieve for the loss of the man. Have they no eyes to see? A man's responsibilities mayhap, he's only a boy just the same. I would number his years less than 16. Taller he'll grow yet. _Mele mused to himself.

He paused when the troubled sleeper mumbled. _No pampered child from the harem, this boy. I must move gently with him. So much pain in the making of those scars. So now, I must work at getting into his good graces. He's going to be untrusting after such a poor beginning_. Mele frowned thoughtfully.

The sleeping boy began to toss restlessly. Hesitantly, Mele rose and moved to the pallet, looking down. Uncertain how the boy would respond to his touch, he held back. Soft, frightened whimpers were being muffled by a knotted fist.

"Easy, Shadow. You're safe, child." Mele knelt and crooned. The still sleeping boy froze, almost seeming to stop breathing in fear. "Wake little one, it is only a bad dream," Mele urged gently. Wide sapphire blue eyes popped open. "There now, just a bad dream. You're in the Sultan Saladin's chambers. I am Mele," the old man calmly waited, letting the boy process the information.

"Mele? I thorry Thir, do I know you?" the slave asked timidly.

"No, you went to sleep just after we meet," Mele explained calmly.

"I gotted thick again?" Shadow asked faintly.

"Yes," Mele gently touched a clinched fist. "Relax, no one will hurt you."

"Haththan?" the boy asked nervously.

"He's taking care of sick people. He asked me to watch over you," Mele explained.

"'Ladin? Hakim?" the boy asked nervously.

"Had to go to a council meeting. They did not wish to leave until you woke. They will be back soon," Mele answered. "I used to take care of Saladin when he was your age," Mele brushed back the unruly curls.

"You're 'Ladin'th Abba?" Shadow asked shyly, his long fingers twisted into the blanket nervously.

"No, I am not his father. I took care of him as a boy," Mele sighed. _In my heart, he is my son. _Mele admitted to himself. _It is I who raised him and the others when their own father couldn't be bothered with younger sons. _

"You thmell thad," Shadow said in a troubled tone.

"Sadness has an odor?" Mele blinked in surprise.

"Uh huh, I thorry I made you thad." The boy's chin quivered.

"You did not make me sad," Mele quickly corrected the boy. "Old sorrows those, it is nothing you did."

"Not Ab, Abba you're 'Ladin'th daddy, jutht athk him," Shadow said softly.

The boy turned his head, snuffling the old man's hand.

_Blind? Not hardly, you see hearts don't you boy? _Mele's lips quirked at the insight.

"So now, I will take care of you as well, child," Mele huffed.

"I try and be good," Shadow said honestly, chewing on his lip. "'Haththan, thaid I wath thent to drive him crazy, and I wath very good at it."

"Trouble likes little boys. If you try very hard to be good, I'll try not to yell when things do happen, hmm?" Mele offered.

_You old fool, already he tugs at your heartstrings. _Mele sighed ruefully when the boy sat up and wrapped his arms around the old man in a warm hug. Making certain there was no one to see his weakness, Mele wrapped gentle arms around the thin boy. A contented sigh, and the boy squirmed closer. _It's going to be hard to discipline the little devil_, Mele admitted to himself, then laid his cheek to rest against the boy's silky curls_. I wonder if you like honey cakes? _

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Saladin and Hakim exchanged looks and hurried from the council chamber leaving the old men behind..

"I'm sure Mele took good care of your Shadow," Hakim said.

"Of course he would. That's not the problem. I left the boy with a stranger who frightened him," Saladin growled.

"There was no choice 'Ladin," Hakim reminded.

"I know," the sultan sighed and picked up speed.

"What, we're racing now?" Hakim chuckled and trotted after his childhood friend much to the servants' amazement.

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"Mele? Shadow?" Saladin called, entering his private apartment.

The silent rooms stood empty. Saladin turned to Hakim with a worried frown.

"I'm sure everything is fine. Did Mele leave a note?" Hakim asked.

"Yes." The sultan pounced. Picking up the piece of scroll he began to read. "The old fool has lost his mind," he spluttered.

"What?" Hakim demanded.

"They've gone fishing," Saladin said in disbelief. "Mele has left his accounts unfinished and gone fishing. He never leaves a duty unfinished."

"Mele fishes?" Hakim asked in amusement. "I didn't know that."

"Whatever possessed him?" The sultan asked in bewilderment.

"A pair of big blue eyes," Hakim huffed. "As much time as Shadow has spent in the garden, I'm thinking he doesn't like being indoors much. 'Ladin, where can you fish around here?"

"You'd think that he'd be immune after dealing with your big blue eyes for so many years. There is no place within twenty miles to fish," Saladin scowled.

"He wouldn't!" Hakim barked and rushed from the room.

_Have they all gone crazy? Mele is truant. The servants are pretending not to see. It is time to nap the heat of the day away and Hakim is **running **through the palace like a child. What is worse is I am running after him. I am the **SULTAN**, running through the halls lacks dignity. What would my father say? _Saladin's thoughts raced to match his feet as he followed Hakim.

Saladin slowed and winced, watching as Hakim lost traction trying to make a turn into the hall that led to the kitchens. He came to a halt as the big man slid across the floor and slammed into the wall.

"After twenty-five years, I would think you could remember to slow down for that turn," Saladin walked over to grin down at his brother.

"Shut up, kid," Hakim huffed, then groaned, sitting up.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm not hurt. Armor is good for something after all," Hakim grunted ruefully.

"It has been a very long time since we ran in the halls," Saladin smirked. _When we were fleeing Mele's switch or stealing honey cakes from the kitchens._

"Father would be furious," Hakim muttered.

_How many times did you shield me from father's anger? Just another of his harem slave's whelps, yet you always were my protector, even against the heir himself did you defend me. He was a fool our father. He should have valued you as much as do I. All his plans were for naught. It is the weak son and the half-breed who rule his kingdom now._

Hakim's startled blue eyes widened, looking up into the sultan's face. "Did you just raspberry **FATHER? **'Ladin?"

"I did. And, Hakim . . . I enjoyed it," Saladin grinned unrepentantly at his half Tuareg brother. "I am Sultan. If I want to run in my halls I will. So tell me, why are we running?"

"A very expensive, very irritating pool of stupid golden fish," Hakim snarled, climbing to his feet.

"Mele wouldn't? Lei's goldfish?" Saladin's eyes widened in true fear.

Hakim's tiny wife, Lei was a source of anxiety at anytime. Once he had found a woman to his liking the big rogue had taken to marriage without a backwards glance. The properly raised Arabic girls being far too submissive for the son of a Tuareg woman. She had laid Hakim unconscious for several hours after he made a demeaning comment at their first meeting. The entire palace had watched in amusement when the heartstruck Hakim had wooed the vivacious daughter of the visiting Chinese ambassador. Despite all offers, there was but one woman in the house of Hakim.

"She'll kill them both," Saladin winced.

"And the pair of us for letting it happen," Hakim muttered.

A suppressed snigger was heard.

The sheepish men turned to see Omar, Ari, and Saddam, members of Saladin's personal guard, grinning widely.

"I take it you saw the whole thing?" Hakim flushed.

"Yes." The men grinned.

"She doesn't scare me," Hakim huffed.

"Much," Saladin sniggered.

"Just remember little brother, Mele and Shadow are **your** slaves," Hakim reminded.

Saladin paled markedly. A sudden flurry of movement and the guards scattered to parts unknown. Lest they be ordered to act as escort to the sultan.

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"Maybe it's alright," Saladin breathed in relief as the two men crept into Hakim's garden.

"What makes you think that?" the big captain demanded in a hoarse whisper, looking around nervously.

"It's quiet," the sultan answered just as softly.

"'Ladin where are we?" Hakim asked kindly.

"Your garden . . . camel shit! It's quiet, Hakim. She's sent the children away," Saladin's eyes widened. "I'm dog meat."

"Afraid so, little brother," Hakim agreed softly.

The two men slunk along a meandering path headed for their possible executions. Coming to a break in the bushes, they peered through the branches. Mele was sitting under a sunshade talking calmly with Lei.

"Come here now, both of you," Lei ordered.

"I'll replace the fish," Saladin promised, ducking his head and watching the fascinating toes of his slippers.

"You're not in trouble," Lei chuckled.

"You caught them in time?" the sultan croaked.

"Caught them? Who did I need to catch? Mele brought Shadow to play with the children," Lei frowned.

"They didn't bother your golden fish?" Hakim breathed in relief.

"My fish? Of course not." Lei looked at the two men blankly.

"Mele left a note that they had gone fishing," Saladin explained.

"So they did," Lei smiled warmly and laughed at the now fidgeting Mele.

Hakim and Saladin stared in disbelief. Mele was a mess. His clothing and slippers had traces of mud. His hands and mouth seemed to be stained with berry juice. The old man's eyes darted wildly as if seeking a place to hide.

"Mele? What has come over you?" the sultan demanded.

"I . . . Shadow was . . . and well . . . I . . ." Mele flushed. "We ran away from home. Only for the afternoon," Mele admitted. "I will not do so again, my sultan," the old man promised.

"Did you have fun, old father?" Hakim asked with dancing eyes.

"Yes, I did," Mele admitted and smiled widely.

"Than do so again tomorrow if you wish." Saladin sat down on a cushion_. When was the last time you played, old father? Is this why Allah sent Shadow to us? _

"He's beautiful," Lei's eyes lingered on the 'child'.

Hakim shook his head, taking in the situation. Shadow was dressed only in his small clothes playing by himself in a pool of muddy water. The strangely bare area of Lei's extensive garden was jarring.

"Where are his clothes?" Saladin asked tightly.

"That pile of mud to his right," Lei sniggered.

"I will send a gardener to repair the damage," Saladin scowled.

"What damage?" Lei and Hakim asked in bewilderment.

"That mess," Saladin waved towards the muddy pool.

"'Ladin that's how it always looks," Hakim laughed.

"I don't understand," Saladin said faintly.

"Children and mud go together," Lei patted the discomfitted sultan's arm. "If I give the children a place to play, they leave the rest of the garden alone."

"They play in the mud?" Saladin looked confused.

"Sometimes they let it dry and than they play in the desert." Hakim shrugged.

"Today it is a pond with fish," Lei smiled watching as a delighted Shadow pulled a stone 'fish' from the water.

"He's filthy," Saladin muttered.

"And happy," Lei reminded.

"Yes, he is." The sultan studied the muddy boy. "I think he better have a bath -a very good bath- before Hassan see's him."

"Hassan knows the benefits of sunshine and happiness," Mele answered calmly.

"And the damage dirt can do to healing wounds," Saladin reminded sharply.

"The scabs are gone. All the places are sealed with healthy new skin," Mele reminded.

"Do I scrape the mud off first or what? He can't go into the tub like that." Saladin asked.

"We use buckets of water outside before we throw them into the tub," Hakim suggested.

"How are we ever going to get the mud out of that mane?" Saladin grunted in dismay.

"Dunk his head in a bucket a few times than pour some clean water through it," Lei suggested.

"That will work?" 'Ladin asked. "Are you sure?"

"It works on our girls, it should work on Shadow as well," Hakim promised.

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"Good thing you caught him before he went into his plate or we'd have to wash all that hair again," Mele yawned widely.

"He fell asleep in mid-bite," Saladin chuckled, holding out the boy's hands for Mele to wash. Tilting his head back to rest on his own shoulder, the sultan aided the old servant to wash the boy's face as well. Mele aided his master in rising with the boy in his arms. Together they got him settled onto his pallet.

"I still have to talk with Neti about Shadow," Saladin reminded himself.

"She's in the harem with the children," Mele glanced out the window at the setting sun. "No time like the present."

"Is it the blue of their eyes or does Shadow truly look like Hakim?" the sultan asked softly.

"The jaw line and cheekbones are much the same. The coloring of course is different," Mele agreed. "Allah favored them both with great beauty."

* * *

Author's note:

Among Muslims, the left hand is reserved for bodily hygiene and considered unclean. Thus, the right hand should be used for eating. Shaking hands or handing over an item with one's left hand is an insult.

ab- arabic for father

abba-arabic for father more affectionate form i.e. Daddy or Poppa

The Tuareg are sometimes called the "Blue People" because in the 12th century they had not learned how to properly set the indigo dye in the cloth of their traditional robes and turbans and it stained the wearer's skin dark blue The Tuareg are matrilineal, though not matriarchal. Unlike many Muslim societies, women do not traditionally wear the veil, whereas men do. The most famous Tuareg symbol is the Tagelmust , an often blue indigo colored veil. Men begin wearing a veil when they reach maturity which usually conceals their entire face excluding their eyes and the top of the nose. Their general color is the reddish yellow of southern Europeans, the uncovered parts of the body being, however, darker through exposure. Their hair is long, black, and silky, beards black and thin; eyes black, sometimes blue; noses small; hands delicate, but bodies muscular. They are a tall people, the chiefs being especially noted for their powerful build.


	10. Chapter 10

This begins the second week after Tannah is claimed by Hassan the Physician.

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"Ezra!" Jaedee called.

Ezra came to a halt and waited for the squire to catch up. "How may I help you, Jaedee?"

"I miss you," Jaedee admitted.

The two men began walking.

"I could no longer remain at Sir Christopher's fire. It was only a matter of time until it came to sword play," Ezra sighed.

"I understand," Jaedee nodded before broaching the real reason for this visit. "You hear things that the rest of us don't. Is he recovered?"

"It is as if the desert swallowed Tannah. I have heard nothing. Jaedee . . . it is best to consider him dead," Sir Ezra stated sadly.

"Dead!" Jaedee stopped in shock.

"Tannah is dead. If perchance he survived the abuse of the mob, he is now a slave to the Saracens. The man we knew is dead," Ezra said bitterly as he stalked off.

"Ezra?" Jaedee's voice suddenly sounded very young.

Ezra froze in place and turned around. "What is it, Jaedee?" he asked gently.

Jaedee looked around before stepping closer to the knight. "I'm scared," Jaedee admitted softly.

"What has frightened you?" Ezra asked protectively.

"Buck," Jaedee whispered. "What he did to Tannah . . . I'm scared of him, Ezra."

"With good reason," Ezra sighed.

"What makes you think I'm any safer than Tannah?" Jaedee hissed.

"Jaedee, Buck loves you. You're his brother."

"I don't know him. He tried to beat Tannah to death," Jaedee protested. The youngster was trembling and close to tears. "I don't want to stay with him."

"Jaedee, you swore oaths to Sir Bucklin. You are his squire. Until you earn your spurs or he releases from those oaths, you belong to him. I cannot interfere," Ezra sighed deeply.

"Yeah, or he kills me like he did Tannah." Jaedee spun around and raced off.

_Perhaps I could arrange for Jaedee to be offered a high posting. Sir Bucklin does seem to love his brother. He would release him of his oaths in order for the boy to advance. Especially if Sir Pierre see's a way to profit from the deal. _

Sir Ezra walked back to the pavilion he now used after fleeing the company of what might have been friends. However, things had gone terribly wrong and fledgling ties had been broken. _Appearances, Ezra. Mother is right; never allow them the opportunity to do you harm. Tannah had almost made me forget. There is no place in this world for an open heart. _Standish looked back over his shoulder to where Jaedee had fled before turning and entering the tent, a scheme already taking shape.

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Ezra exchanged pained glances with Jaedee as the squire tied the familiar black stallion in front of Ezra's tent. The saddle was laden with a bundle.

"Jaedee?" Ezra asked curiously.

"Sir Christopher or Buck would kill him soon. They can't use Copper. I thought Tannah would want you to have his things," Jaedee said tearfully.

"Thank you, Jaedee. I'll see that Copper is cared for," Ezra promised.

"I have to go. I'm not supposed to talk to you any more," Jaedee sighed.

"Sir Bucklin ordered you?" Ezra stiffened.

"Yeah, I should choose my friends carefully," Jaedee muttered.

"Ah, the loose tongues are flapping, are they?" Ezra huffed.

"Yeah, I'm sorry," Jaedee sighed.

"It is nothing new Jaedee. Thank you for bringing Tannah's possessions," Ezra said.

Jaedee nodded shakily.

Standish watched as the boy appeared to gather his courage before heading back to Sir Bucklin.

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Sir Christopher fumed in a drunken rage as the Black Wolves cast down his banner as they rode out, intent on taking ship and sailing for home. The carefully enunciated words of the translator still rang in his ears. Sir Larabee's breaking of faith with Tannah thereby freeing the Black Wolves from his service. Larabee **knew** Tannah could not have slain the page. Tannah had just ridden in from Antioch with dispatches. Larabee lacked honor and the bowmen would not serve him. Never had they served the house of Larabee, they were of Gwynedd and to Gwynedd they would return now that the draig-en was lost. Protecting him from his uncle until his shield brother could be found, they had delivered him to an even worse fate. Sir Christopher would live despite his betrayal; mortal man could condemn him no worse than living with his failure as Tywysydd.

"What did they mean they didn't serve you? What was a Draig-en? And how did you fail as Tywysydd? Whatever that was?" Sir Bucklin demanded furiously.

"I don't know." Sir Christopher paled as his banner was thrown to the ground and the departing bowman rode across it. Many spit upon the silk as they passed.

"I'll teach them manners," Sir Bucklin roared, charging out.

A swift foot to the head dropped the knight to his knees. Horses knocked against him as they crossed the silk. Josiah and Nathan rushed out to drag the unconscious man back as they realized the bowmen would grind Wilmington into the dust without remorse.

"Any who seek a different place on the battle line come to me. I will force no man to serve with a kin slayer," Sir Sean, an Irish Knight called to the gathered knights.

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"Well?" Sir Christopher asked softly as Sir Josiah entered the tent.

"King Richard sent troops to bring back the bowmen. The healers' tents are full. Five flights of arrows the bowmen sent into the troop, and then they rode calmly on. Three of four of the king's company fell to the arrows," Josiah announced in shock. "I didn't know they were capable of that kind of damage."

"The Saracens will rejoice this night," Nathan growled bitterly from where he tended Sir Bucklin's injuries.

Jaedee lifted the tent flap and entered. His eyes were wide and he shifted nervously.

"What is it?" Larabee snarled.

"There isn't a single Cymru in camp. Even servants. If they weren't free, they were bought out of their service. The Scotts and the Irish turn their backs as I approach. Oathbreakers and kinslayers they call us. The Kings are trying to rearrange the battle line. None of the Celts and more than half of the Northmen will not ride to battle with you at their shoulder," Jaedee almost whispered.

"I never broke my oath, nor have I slain kin," Chris hissed, throwing his tankard at Jaedee who dodged out of the way. "Tannah slew that page."

Jaedee's lips moved before he stifled his words fearfully.

"Get out of my sight," Chris snarled before drinking directly from the wine skin.

Jaedee bowed and moved out of the tent. That night he slept with the horses rather than trust to his safety within the tent.

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As morning broke, Sir Bucklin slipped quietly from the tent. Avoiding Larabee who slept off his drink, Buck limped heavily as he searched for his squire.

"Aw hell, Jaedee," Wilmington sighed. The boy slept under a saddle blanket, and tear stains marked his cheeks. "Time to get up." Buck leaned over to shake the boy, jerking back when Jaedee threw up an arm protectively and rolled out of reach. Fear filled the dark eyes as the squire faced his knight.

"Sh, Sh. Easy, it's just me," Buck crooned, trying to sooth his brother. Buck gasped in shock when the boy flinched away from his touch. "Jaedee, I won't hurt you," Buck coaxed.

"I thought you wouldn't hurt Tannah either," Jaedee hissed.

"He killed that page," Buck snarled.

"You and Sir Christopher know better. You were there when Tannah rode in from Antioch. He couldn't have," Jaedee protested.

"Lady Mary saw him," Buck refuted.

"She **lied**, she wasn't even in camp when the last page was killed. Tannah was with **you** when John, the son of Montclair, was murdered. The Lady Mary was with her lover Sir Gerrard in the lower camp."

Buck flushed in rage at Jaedee's response. "Be silent! Would you lose your tongue? If your words were to reach the wrong ears, not even Sir Christopher could save you. She's mother to the Earl's heir, you fool."

"Why did you want to get rid of him?" Jaedee demanded. "Because Sir Christopher didn't **need** you so much? You were jealous of Tannah?

"He was **EVIL**!" Buck snarled. "A demon."

"Evil? Tannah? You didn't think so when he pulled you out of the ocean. Nor when he took the arrow meant for Sir Christopher. You didn't have a problem eating the meat Tannah put on the table, did you?"

"He tempted Chris," Buck snarled.

"Tempted? Not that horse shit that Tannah was laying down for Chris? God have mercy, Buck! Did you ever see Tannah when he wasn't dressed . . . ever? You slept in the same damn tent," Jaedee yelled. "You **lied**, attacked a friend and maybe even killed him. Got him sent into slavery."

"Don't speak to me that way again," Buck growled.

"Oathbreaker and kinslayer, that's what they called Sir Chris," Jaedee charged.

"That bowman was no kin, nor did Chris break his oath." Buck's voice rose. "They're lies."

"Are they?" Jaedee hissed.

Buck's blow knocked the youngster to the ground. Blood poured from the boy's mouth and nose. "Oh God, Jaedee. I didn't mean it," Buck gasped in horror, reaching out for his younger brother.

Jaedee scrambled back out of reach and darted past a trio of knights, one of which was Sir Ezra of Standish. Buck charged after his fleeing squire only to be tripped by a well placed boot, suddenly finding a sword tip resting under his chin.

"Intend you to slay this boy as well?" A soft voice asked in a thick Irish accent.

"He's my squire." Buck pushed the sword to the side and scrambled to his feet.

"The Earl, Sean of Munster would take Jaedee for his squire. It would be in the boy's best interest not to be painted with your dishonor," Sir Ezra spoke harshly.

"My dishonor! Would you challenge a trial by combat to answer your charge?" Buck hissed.

"You would go to a challenge with lies still warm upon your lips?" Ezra asked coldly.

Nathan and Sir Josiah stepped into sight and worriedly studied the angry pair. Sir Bucklin snarled and slapped Sir Ezra on the cheek in formal challenge.

Ezra held firm, the brilliant scarlet of Wilmington's hand print glowed on his pale cheek. "As the challenged party, I have choice of combat and weapons." Ezra's voice dripped ice. "I will send my second to arrange the details."

Buck's blue eyes held remorse but he refused to back down. "Sir Christopher will be my second," Wilmington responded.

"Very well," Ezra nodded before stalking off.

"A bad thing to fight among ourselves," Josiah sighed.

"Sir Ezra's charger is still lame. The challenge will be afoot." Nathan studied Buck in concern. "Your bruised leg will slow you down."

"Ezra's much lighter, I will still have the advantage," Buck growled.

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_I believe they each acted on their own, but Sir Pierre, Sir Bucklin, and the Lady Mary all used the children's death to their advantage in disposing of an unwanted nonentity. _

_The Lady Mary used the dead child, using Sir Christopher's guilt over his lost son. She is quite manipulative but not nearly as intelligent as she thinks herself. She saw Tannah as a threat to her acquiring Sir Christopher as husband. Stupid woman, listening to the gossip naming Tannah as Sir Christopher's catamite instead of studying the man. If she had enlisted Tannah's aid, she may have achieved her desires. Instead, Sir Christopher now avoids her. _

_Sir Bucklin may have acted out of love, convincing himself he was protecting his brother from the dangers of a forbidden sin. _

_Sir Pierre . . . there was fear in his eyes when he saw Tannah in the command tent. With Sir Pierre being newly arrived, he hadn't seen the bowman before. He was quick to point a finger and incite the mob against Shadow._

_Tannah._ Ezra abruptly stopped brushing Copper. Ezra concentrated, trying to recall the look on the bowman's face when he first spied Pierre Larabee. _Hate, fury, abhorrence . . . __**fear**__? What did Tannah know that Sir Pierre wanted hidden? _

"Now my friend, you and I need to come to an agreement," Ezra spoke to the fidgeting black stallion. "My good friend Malory is lame.The best way I can see to remove myself from mortal danger and not do grievous harm to Sir Bucklin in the process, is by a horseback encounter. You are too small and not trained for the joust, so that is out of the question. So it comes to swords. No, no nothing like that." Ezra smiled faintly as the horse seemed to shake his head no and stomp a foot. "I would ask that you carry me tomorrow. Light armor and a target rather than a full shield. Much the way the saracens and your master fought." Copper turned his head as if studying Standish. "Well? I think the sight of you may just disturb a guilty conscience," Ezra explained. "That is if you don't kill me before we get to the training grounds."

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A Target or Targe was a small shield worn on the arm rather than the heavy shield used in jousting by the knights.


	11. Chapter 11

"Standish, where are you, you pompous peacock?" Earl Sean of Munster stalked into Ezra's pavilion.

"Earl or not, Sean; I won't stand for your disrespect, cousin," Ezra growled, pulling back the curtain on the private section of the tent so he could glare at his distant kinsman. Lather covered most of Standish's face.

"Hurry up and shave your pretty face. We have things to do," Sean laughed, flopping down onto a padded chair.

"What kind of things?" Ezra's voice was muffled as he pull his nose to the side a bit avoiding the sharp blade as he made a careful swipe.

"Teach you how to ride Copper, for one," Sean answered.

"I already know how to ride a horse, thank you very much," Ezra huffed.

"But you don't know how to ride in the Celtic fashion. If you try to ride yon beastie like one of your Norman horses you'll be picking your teeth out of the dust," Sean warned sweetly.

"There's that much difference?" Ezra pulled the blade away from his face and turned to his cousin.

"Aye, Ezra. There is that much difference. A Celt rides with his weight at the horse's shoulder not centered on his back. More leg, less rein as well." Sean answered.

"I can use all the assistance you might offer," Ezra admitted sheepishly.

"Sir Donal has offered his assistance as a sparring mate," Sean said.

"The MacLeod?" Ezra jerked the knife back from his face. A finger pressed on his chin to stop the bleeding where he had nicked himself in shock.

"Aye, the swordmaster of the MacLeods," Sean smiled widely.

"Why?" Ezra spluttered in amazement.

"It is a matter of honor, Ezra. The loss of the Draig-en is a sorrow to us all." Sean leaned forward and filled a wine flagon.

"Tannah? What is this Draig-en you speak of?" Ezra wiped the remaining lather off his face and walked over.

"The Pendragon was such a man," Sean said softly.

"King Arthur?" Ezra whispered.

"Aye, that is what the Normans named him," Sean said before taking a swallow of the wine.

"Tannah's a prince?" Ezra asked in shock.

"A thing of the old days. A blessed watchman . . . Born to it and bred for it as well," Sean admitted.

"Tannah's a Guardian," Ezra hissed. _I thought Grandfather was only telling stories to entertain me. Guardians exist? _

"Aye," Sean turned the flagon in his hands. "It was an evil day for Christiandom when the Saracens were gifted with a beloved warrior."

"Surely Tannah will not stand against us," Ezra whispered.

"A slave has few choices. If they recognize him for what he is and find a companion to bond him." Sean shook his head sorrowfully.

Ezra shakily pulled the flagon from his companion's hand and gulped down the wine. "God help us all."

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"Direct him with your legs," Sean laughed as he lifted Ezra out of the dirt once more. "Copper is a proud beast and will not abide restraint anymore than you."

"More leg, less rein," Ezra panted a moment. "I'd rather face Wilmington with sword, it would hurt less."

"Your choice this was. If you had just killed the man it wouldn't have come to this," The Earl said unsympathetically as he tossed Ezra into the saddle.

"Maybe I was wrong," Ezra groaned.

"Wait a moment," Donal growled thoughtfully. "Standish has the knowledge, it's his training that keeps coming to the fore." MacLeod began working at Copper's bridle. "Bite me and I'll be biting you back," he warned the ill-natured horse. "Ride him around the enclosure now." The Scotsman ordered.

Ezra looked in disbelief. The horse's head was now unrestrained. MacLeod began looping the removed reins and hung them over his arm.

"Go on with you," Sean started Copper with a gentle nudge.

After the first circle Ezra relaxed a bit. _It's as though he knows what I want before I do. _

"Pick up the pace," Sean yelled.

Shortly Ezra was going through intricate maneuvers with the agile black.

Donal rode out on a grey mare and the sparring began.

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The Earl of Munster's pavilion

"I hurt in places I didn't know I had," Ezra moaned as he gingerly lowered himself onto a padded chair.

"The servants are preparing a hot bath for you," Sean chuckled unsympathetically.

"A bath?" Ezra asked hopefully.

"Of course a bath. You're in the Celtic sector now Ezra, not the Norman camp. Here we bathe as often as we can," Sean chided.

"Thank you. I'll be too stiff to fight tomorrow if I don't soak out some of these aches." Ezra shifted uncomfortably. "How did you manage to keep the priests from declaring you as practitioners of the dark arts. Immersing yourselves in water voluntarily, this way."

"The priesthood does not exclude Celts you know. And it didn't hurt that to a man we swore to wash daily as penance." Sean grinned.

"How convenient," Ezra chuckled.

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Sir Bucklin sat in the dim tent holding his flagon of wine. His sword lay beside him awaiting the attention of whet stone. Jaedee had a dark scowl on his countenance as he industrially polished and checked each piece of his knight's armor.

"I'm not using the plate tomorrow, little brother," Buck broke the silence. _I need to heal this hurt between us before I lose the boy. I'll make sure that Sean of Munster takes Jaedee on as a squire if I die tomorrow. It is not a death match but accidents do happen._

"It gives me something to do," Jaedee growled. "I've already gone over your chain mail. I checked the small shield that the Scots left for you. It seems sound, although very light."

"It would be sound, lad. The Scots are honorable men," Buck replied softly.

"I have begun to believe there is no honor," Jaedee snorted.

Buck sat his flagon down with a clatter and stared speechlessly at his squire. _He's heartsick, even if I could bring myself to strike him, a whipping wouldn't fix this._

"Of course there's honor," Sir Josiah rumbled as he entered the tent. Jaedee started to speak and snapped his mouth closed. He silently polished his brother's breastplate. "I know you've seen much dishonorable behavior in the camp but there is honor," Josiah assured the boy. Jaedee's snort of disbelief was easily heard. "Your brothers are honorable men," Josiah reminded calmly.

"I thought so once. Even when Chris was drunk more often than sober. Grief I called his breaking of his vow to temperance then. I've learned better," Jaedee said bitterly.

"Chris mourns his son and wife," Buck snarled.

"A woman forced upon him for alliance sake? Chris never wanted her," Jaedee yelled.

"I came to love her," Christopher of Larabee now stood at the entrance to their pavilion. "I dearly loved the son she gave me."

Jaedee didn't flinch at the furious gaze Larabee directed his way. "A child she was given no choice in the making of. No more than my mother had a choice. Tell me, brother; if your Welsh sow had asked, would you have set her free?"

Buck tensed as Chris stalked forward. "Chris, the boy's tongue ran away from him, he meant no disrespect," Wilmington soothed.

"I called her that to my deepest shame. It was before I ever saw her. After that first year I . . . if she had asked I would have sent her back to her people despite my sire's ire," Chris said softly.

"You'd have kept her son, though," Jaedee reminded.

"He was my son, too. I couldn't let him go to people who might have treated him ill," Larabee whispered. "It matters not. Sara never asked."

"Maybe you were once capable of loving something after all," Jaedee said quietly.

"What makes you question my honor?" Chris demanded angrily.

Jaedee studied his brother, realizing the man was sober for the first time in weeks. "Chris, what have you done that **is** honorable these last weeks?"

Larabee raised a fist in rage only to lower it when confronted by the clear, honest eyes of his brother. "Tannah was nothing, a servant that held himself too proud," Larabee growled.

"Ezra said he was the only honorable man he knew," Jaedee said softly. "Even the Saracens said he didn't kill the children. You condemned him on the word of a lying woman, knowing full well he was at your side when the page died. Tell me Brother, where am I to see honor in that?"

Chris flushed and raised his fist once more then dropped it to his side before stalking over to the table and snatching up a skin of wine.

"Jaedee, that was uncalled for," Buck snarled, his worried eyes lingered on his brother while Chris made inroads on the wine.

Abruptly a war horns warning blast filled the air, breaking the strained silence in the tent.

"We're under attack," Buck lunged to his feet, grabbing his sword as he rose. Snatching up his shield he was the first out of the pavilion closely followed by Chris and Josiah.

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More warriors poured from tents, arming themselves to repel an attack. Everyone but the stationed guards made their way to the sounds of disturbance. One of the outriders rode slowly down the path between the tents. In his arms he carried something wrapped in his cloak. The hardened warrior wept openly as he passed.

"Jock?" a woman's shaken voice was heard over the mob. "NO!" Her anguished scream filled the air as she pushed her way through the crowd. "No . . . no . . . no," she whimpered as she hesitantly approached the mounted man. Respectfully the man lowered his burden into the woman's reaching arms.

Stripping back the cloak to reveal the small form the woman began to wail. "My baby's dead. They swore they caught the demon. It was safe and now my baby is dead." the woman lifted the limp form to her breast and rocked the dead child.

"Oh, God," Buck gagged turning away from the pitiful sight.

Chris stood frozen in horror as he could only see the blond hair and the staring green eyes, the dead child bore a passing resemblance to his own dead son.

"Chris, it isn't Adam," Buck tried to pull Larabee away from the crowd.

"Mother, let me see," a soft French voice spoke and a richly dressed knight knelt beside the distraught woman. The mother blindly kept trying to wipe the blood away with her shawl. "He's dead. My Jock is dead." Gently tucking the cloak around the abused little body she looked up. "You fine knights swore the demon was dead," she whispered sadly, looking into the dark haired knight's face.

"Mother, I know not of what you speak. I have but just arrived in the camp. Allow me to carry your son for you. Where would you go, my Lady?" The strange knight asked respectfully.

"I'm naught but a washerwoman, Sir. To my tent, kind knight, we will take my boy there." Shakily, she stood, aided by one of the knight's retainers.

"That thing's mark. Even here the evil stalks," the knight snarled in fury when the cloak slipped as he lifted the body from the mother's arms revealing the dead boy's shoulder. Shaking fingers touched the wound. "I lost a son to this monster as well, some fifteen years agone, now. I have followed it's trail across most of Christendom. I will find it and I will kill it." he swore bitterly as he rose, cradling the body against his own chest.

"Fifteen years, Sir Knight?" Chris asked in the silence left by the stunned mob.

"Pierce, Count of Monte Blanc. Yes, my eldest son died just as this young one did. I found him in the churchyard," the older man's voice broke.

"What land, Sir Pierce?" Ezra of Standish asked.

"Normandy in France," the Count growled before turning back to the distraught mother. "This is the fifteenth child I have certain knowledge the demon has killed. Each was marked on the shoulder in this spot by a . . . it used to be obviously a human bite over time it has become this . . . mauling.

Larabee paled and hurriedly stalked away.

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"Chris." Wilmington cautiously approached his brother.

Larabee stood at the perimeter of the camp looking out into the desert.

"Jaedee's right. Sara never had a choice. First me, then knowing she'd have to abandon her son if she would gain her freedom," Chris sighed sadly.

"Politics, Chris. Few matches are made with love. Your father and Prince Daffydd ap Owain Gwynedd made an alliance with King Henry's blessing. Larabee's son and a bastard sister to the ruling prince of North Wales. You were far kinder to her than she expected. I think she truly came to care for you." Buck comforted his brother.

"As God is my witness, Buck, I did love her," Chris turned, revealing the tears on his cheeks.

"I never doubted that. That little woman had you wrapped around her finger in no time," Buck agreed.

The two men turned to stare out at the desert.

"So far from the green of home," Chris murmured.

"Aye, brother. It is. This place changes a man," Buck said quietly.

"What is honor, Buck?" Chris' voice broke.

"A boy dreams of honor. I know little of it. Pretty words to hide behind," Wilmington hissed.

"Will you kill Standish? To prove your honor?" Chris whispered faintly.

"Not if I can keep from it," Buck sighed.

"If only one returns I would have it be you." Chris said bitterly.

"He's quick and cunning . . . and he wears justice as his mantle," Buck admitted softly. "This time it is the fox who speaks true and the hound that bears the blood of the lamb. My heart is heavy tonight."

"Monte Blanc claimed fifteen years of murders," Chris whispered. "He seemed certain it was the same killer."

"Sir Pierce called it a bite? There was flesh torn from that spot," Buck protested faintly.

"You could see teeth marks along the edges," Larabee hissed.

"Oh, God in heaven. That monster . . . eats the flesh?" Buck paled.

"Yes," Chris gagged. Gently he supported his brother while Wilmington heaved into the sand.

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"On my shoulders it be. I cast the bowman to the crowd," Larabee responded.

"But it was my hand that struck down a man that had done naught but good for me and mine." Buck stared down at his hands. "In my heart I knew him to be innocent yet I beat him down and kicked . . . He could have left Jaedee to the Saracens yet he stayed with him. I pray that a merciful God allowed him die," Wilmington whispered.

"I would think you would pray otherwise," Chris looked over in shock.

"Better death than clipped wings. He was a wild thing. I doubt he could abide chains," Buck's voice shook. "Beautiful, that bowman, far too beautiful. Not a good thing for a slave of an enemy race. Mommar ben Sahid has wealth and an abiding hate for Tannah."

"He belongs to the physician," Chris answered hoarsely.

"Jealousy is a demon blinding a man to truth. I doubt that **MAN** is any older than Jaedee. He was just a boy, Chris, and we failed him. To be sold or given on a whim. Castrated and perfumed for some Saracen's harem even." Buck sobbed.

"I know," Chris whispered bowing his head in shame. _Why did I allow myself to be manipulated? Was my 'good' name more valuable than a man's life? Six months he rode at my back, guarding me and mine from all harm. He avoided the touch of a friend's hands and now . . . I needs try and discover if Tannah yet lives. Mayhap I can buy his freedom. _

"My damn pride," Wilmington cursed. "I tore Jaedee's world asunder. And now I face a friend across a sword."

"Call it off Buck. Admit your part of this," Chris sighed.

"Yes, it's the right thing to do," Buck agreed. "I'll go talk to Standish."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"What do ye here, betrayer?" a soft voice tinted with a Scottish burr demanded.

"I was told Sir Ezra of Standish was in your camp." Buck spun around looking for the voice from no where.

"Your comeuppance is not until the morrow." A dark form stepped from the deeper shadow between tents.

"I have come to . . ." Wilmington's voice trailed off as Ezra and the Earl of Munster exited a nearby tent.

"Wilmington." Sir Sean's knuckles whitened upon the hilt of his sword.

As a bitter crowd gathered Wilmington began to speak. "Ezra, I'm . . . Sir Ezra of Standish, I stand before you and freely admit my disgrace. I behaved without honor inflicting grave injury to an innocent. For this I will beg God's forgiveness. I swear to do all within my power, offering any wealth which I might acquire in an attempt to right the wrong I inflicted on that . . . boy." Buck's voice broke on a sob.

Ezra's eyes widened at the public accounting and acknowledgment of wrong doing.

"More of a man than I e'er thought," Sir Sean admitted softly, his grip loosening on the blade.

"I yield to you the contest of honor, Sir Ezra, and would withdraw my challenge to arms," Wilmington offered.

A soft murmur of voices filled the air as the gathered Celtic warriors reacted.

"I freely allow you to withdraw the challenge," Ezra answered. _Too little too late but why add another's blood to the debt. _

"Thank you," Buck bowed and turned away. Taking a few steps he hesitated and turned. "I know I don't have the right to ask, yet is there any news of Tannah?"

"I have heard nothing of the bowman. Most likely he is dead," Sir Ezra answered gently.

Buck's shoulders slumped and he nodded and walked away. The crowd gave way allowing Wilmington to pass unimpeded from their camp.

"I would appreciate it if Sir Bucklin is escorted safely back to his pavilion. It would not do to add to the unrest by his death in the Celtic section," Ezra suggested.

"Aye." Sean of Munster waved to several of his men directing them to follow Sir Bucklin for safety's sake.

"There goes a man with a burden that will stay with him for all his days," Sir Donal of the MacLeods noted.

"Aye, and it is a burden he has well earned," Sir Sean growled and turned away entering his tent.

Ezra's troubled eyes lingered on the broken Wilmington.

"You canna forgive him Standish. Not until he is ready to forgive himself and yon man seems to have a stubborn way about him," the MacLeod noted.

"He is a good man, impetuous and thoughtless but he is a good man," Ezra whispered softly.

"Aye Lad, it is why his dishonor eats at his spirit," Sir Donal sighed and slipped into the darkness.

"It is the black wolf who broke faith," Sean growled angrily.

"Sir Christopher . . . ," Ezra began hesitantly.

"Is safe from our swords. His betrayal is the greatest. Someday he will need the Draig-en's strength only to find his back unguarded by his own actions. May I live to see the day," Sean growled bitterly before returning to the pavilion.

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Sir Pierce, Count of Monte Blanc sat in his pavilion, foregoing the chair he sat on a pile of pillows strewn on the floor. A style much more in character with the Crusaders enemies than the Crusaders. The lamp light flickered along the gleaming steel as Pierce sharpened his sword. The dark eyes looked ancient as the man considered his future.

_I have stretched things as far as possible. Already comments are made on how young I appear. The children are old enough to do well now. Angelique has been gone these last few months. I had simply intended for Pierce of Monte Blanc to die on the battle field. Better then being burned at the stake. Not something I want to repeat. To have stumbled across this monster at this time and this place. I will simply delay my death until I put an end to him. _Methos lifted the blade and studied the edge.

_Cathay, I think some place that bathing is approved of. A new name for a new life . . . hmmm Adam? Yes, I think Adam. I really need to loose that pesky little watcher though. I never should have set that priest to recording the lives of the immortals but it is such a good way of keeping track of opponents. The watchers are getting so defensive about me . . . borrowing their journals though. _

Standing up the immortal began a sword dance weaving the blade around himself in a beautiful and deadly fence of steel.

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Buck ducked under the tent flap and entered the pavilion. Chris studied the careworn man for a moment.

"It is done. I admitted my fault and Ezra allowed me to withdraw my challenge," Buck sighed as he plopped down onto his bedding. "A dozen challenges will come out of this. The young peacocks will be wanting to pull me down." Buck groaned and stretched out on the blankets.

Chris nodded faintly and bit his lip. _My fault. If I had simply protected Tannah none of this would have happened. _

"Ezra has heard nothing of the boy since he was taken away," Buck's voice shook. "How could I have done something like that?" Wilmington stared at his hands, opening and closing his fists. "I miss that scruffy little bowman."

_Me too. Like a part of me is missing. _Chris sat silently examining his weapons.

"You think this Sir Pierce is telling the truth. That this child killer has been around that long and came out of Christian lands?" Buck spoke much later, breaking the silence of the tent.

"Yes, I saw his eyes. He intends to kill that abomination," Chris admitted.

"Thought so myself," Buck muttered turning over. "Chris?"

"Yes, Buck," Larabee smiled faintly. _Buck is always Buck._

"How much do you think a slave like Tannah would cost?" Wilmington asked.

"Too much," Chris growled. _Leave it alone Buck. There is nothing to be done._

"I thought so," Buck sighed.

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The man lay within his pavilion sleepily staring at the roof, sated and content to replay the events of the night within his mind. The child's pitiful struggle and muffled screams as the boy was raped. Licking his lips the killer remembered the sweetness and how tender his flesh had been. There was no remorse, no troubled conscious simply the anticipation of another hunt and kill that the man dreamed of so sweetly as sleep claimed him.

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In the darkness a mother sat rocking the body of her slain child. Her grief finally taking the form of prayer asking that God strike down the demon before another mother's heart broke as her own.

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The healer smiled widely as he safely delivered the babe. Gently he cleaned the boy and wrapped him snuggly before offering the child to his father. "He is a fine boy," Nathan said.

"It is only these poor hands I have to defend you," the new father cuddled his son close. "A foul beast walks the camp eating our children and the Huntsman is lost to us."

Nathan scowled and slipped from the tent unnoticed by the new parents. _It's not my fault Tannah is gone. _Long legs made short work of the walk as the healer stalked the Crusaders' camp. _You can taste the fear in the air. _Nathan stopped to study the far too silent camp. _Tannah . . . why did I do nothing. He saved my life. His eyes . . . will haunt me the rest of my life. _Nathan admitted to himself. The broad shoulders slumped as he continued back to Larabee's pavilion. _Who will Larabee throw to the mob next? _

"Josiah?" Nathan hurried toward the big warrior. Something about Sir Josiah's posture indicated great pain.

"Ah it is you, Nathan," Josiah hissed as he straightened, holding on to a post. A cut off yelp greeted the healer's touch.

"What have you done?" Nathan exclaimed, his worried eyes darted from the blood slicking his fingers to the dark stains across the back of Josiah's shirt.

"Penance, brother, penance. I swore an oath to protect the innocent and I stood by and did nothing," Josiah hissed as he straightened.

"You let those . . . holy brothers beat you bloody again, didn't you?" Nathan fumed as he slid a supporting hand under the wavering Josiah's elbow. "Tannah didn't approve of this you know and would not welcome you doing so in his name."

""The pain is too great. I needed to cleanse myself of innocent blood." Josiah growled.

"By adding to the suffering? Did not Jesus already pay for your sin?" Nathan snapped angrily.

"Yes . . . did you know another child was murdered tonight? I am only a warrior of God, I know nothing of tracking and hunting. Tannah would have hunted this demon down and killed it. It was for the child I did penance," Josiah answered bitterly.

"Another one?" Nathan hissed in horror.

"You had not heard?" Josiah asked.

"I was at a lying-in," Nathan replied. "He **was** innocent."

"Did you truly believe him guilty?" Josiah demanded, only for Nathan's eyes to drop in shame.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The Sultan of Sultan's, The Eagle of the Desert, Salah al-Din Yusuf stalked into his chambers dropping down to sit on the floor, he petulantly threw a pillow to thump hard against the wall and slide to the floor.

Shadow's head came up abruptly at the sound that disturbed his sleep. Snuffling deeply the boy froze in place as he recognized the disturbing odor of rage lacing the familiar scent. Curling tightly in on himself he shivered and tried to burrow deeper into the nest of bedding.

The first thud was followed by another, then another as pillows were flung in a steady rhythm against the wall.

Mele opened the door and slipped into the room. The old man smiled to himself as another pillow thumped into the wall. _At least I taught him this much control of that temper of his. Better the wall then killing those who irritate him. _

Saladin never noticed as Mele nudged more pillows into easy reach. He turned to straighten the room and sighed deeply. _I forgot about the boy. He would not sleep through this. He must be scared to death. _Kneeling down beside the mound of bedding the old man crooned. "Hush now. It is alright. Come out from under there so I can see you," Mele ordered.

"Angry, he ver' angry," Shadow whispered shakily.

"Yes he is, but not at you Little One," Ari coaxed. "Now come out from under the blankets."

"Pleathe no . . . not hurt if not thee . . . be thmall," Shadow hiccuped between soft sobs.

_You learned that lesson the hard way didn't you child. _Mele stroked the trembling back through the blanket and waited patiently. Another loud thump filled the air and Shadow flinched.

**"****Yusuf ibn Ayyub****!" **Mele barked sharply.

Guiltily Saladin dropped a pillow. "Yes Old Father?"

"You frighten Shadow." Mele nodded at the hiding slave.

Saladin paled and cursed softly under his breath. Starting to stand he settled back and looked puzzled at Mele's gesture to stay where he was.

"Shadow, I need your help," Mele coaxed.

"Help?" Shadow's tousled head appeared, the blind eyes were turned fearfully towards Saladin.

"Yes, our master has run out of pillows. Will you please gather them up from beside the wall and return them to him?" Mele asked soothing back the loose curls.

"Ladin throwin' pillowth at the wall?" Shadow sat up shakily and moved into Mele's comforting arms.

"Yes it is something I taught him to do as a small boy. This way only pillows and a wall get hit when he is angry," Mele explained.

"Oh ith thmart get mad over, then think before do thtupid thing," Shadow said thoughtfully after a long moment.

Saladin flushed and threw his last pillow at the wall. Hopping to his feet Shadow walked over and recovered armsfuls of pillows and carried them over to the sheepish sultan. Staying well out of the way he went to recover more pillows ignoring the thud as a carefully tossed pillow hit the wall above his head and plopped to the floor.

Mele smiled sadly and slipped from the room. _The boy has much to think about. Perhaps Shadow will be of some comfort to him._

Finally the pillows lay untouched as the sultan stared at the wall with unseeing eyes. _I have no choice. It needs done no matter how powerful his mother's clan. How did it go so wrong? _

Trembling fingers crept into Saladin's loosely clenched fist. Smiling sadly the sultan looked over at the troubled youth. _If only . . . _"I would not hurt you, Little One," the sultan promised.

"Thhadow knows, I just gotted thcared." The boy's brow furrowed. "The angry . . . thomething bad happened to Thhadow?"

"Yes Little One, something bad happened. That was before you came to me." Saladin stroked the soft curls.

Shadow nodded. "You hurt," the boy patted over Saladin's heart.

"Yes," Saladin sighed and pulled the boy in for a comforting hug. Who the comforter was wasn't quite clear.

"I will be very late, so I want you to eat and go to bed. You are **not** to leave my rooms," the sultan ordered.

"Yeth thir," Shadow promised.

"Tomorrow Neti is coming to meet you," Saladin said.

"Neti?"

"A very special woman," Saladin answered. _Who has no respect for the authority of a sultan._

"Momma?" Shadow sat back.

"Not of my blood, but like Mele, family none the less," Saladin answered.

"Like Arwen?" Shadow asked hopefully

"Arwen?" Saladin asked curiously. _A memory? What an unusual name._

"Hugth . . . gentle handth . . . after . . . " Shadow hissed rubbing his temples and pulling distractedly on his hair.

"Hush, don't try so hard else you'll make yourself sick," Saladin gently tucked the boy close and freed the trapped curls.

"'Ladin come back?" Shadow whispered burying his face against the sultan's broad chest.

_Come back? Oh tonight. _"Of course I'll come back. We will eat breakfast together," Saladin promised.

"Can Thhadow go on balcony," Shadow asked faintly.

"Yes . . . no climbing alright?" the sultan tilted up the boy's chin so he could see his face.

"Not climb," Shadow agreed. The sapphire eyes were filled with tears and the stubborn chin quivered.

"Why the tears, Little One?" Saladin questioned.

"Don't like being 'lone." Shadow rubbed his aching temples once more.

"I wouldn't leave you all alone," the sultan comforted. _A little boy in a new place. He might have one of those spells or anything else. _"Do you remember Ari?" _I hope he'll allow Ari to stay. Hassan has much more important duties. _

"The guardthman?" Shadow asked softly.

"Would you like Ari to come and stay with you until I come back?" Saladin asked gently.

"Yeth pleathe, Ari funny," Shadow pulled back and wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

"Oh no you don't. Here's a mindeel, no wiping your nose on your sleeve," the sultan lectured.

"Yeth thir," Shadow smiled impishly and blew his nose on the mindeel still in Saladin's hand.

"Thank . . . you," Saladin sighed staring in distaste at the soggy material.

*******

"Sleepy Shadow," Ari asked in relief. _Never again will I underestimate this one. _Ari looked down at the chessboard ruefully. _He never played before tonight and he's beaten me twice already and him only able to see the pieces in his mind._

The boy yawned widely and nodded before rubbing his eyes with fists childishly.

_He really does seem like a little boy. Hakim said it was so but I never expected this. _"Why don't you get ready for bed, then I'll tell you a story," Ari suggested. Shadow bit his lip nervously. "Little One, my Sultan ordered me to remain until he returns did he not?" Ari reminded.

_Allah give my Lord strength lest he falter in his duty. May he heal his servant's broken heart. _Ari took a moment to pray for Saladin as he faced an odious duty.

"Yeth, thorry, Thhadow actin' like a baby," Shadow answered looking relieved.

"It is a new place, of course you don't want to be alone. Now go change. Don't forget to wash your face and hands," Ari urged.

Shadow returned, tugging and moving his blankets until his nest suited him before laying down.

"Comfortable? Did you get a drink?" Ari gently pulled up a light blanket and tucked it in. Shadow nodded sleepily. _He'll be asleep in moments. _

Shadow waited, eyes opened unnaturally wide as he tried to stay awake for his story. The seasoned warrior shook his head and began to tell the wide-eyed boy about Aladin and the Cave of Wonders.

*******

Hakim ibn Ayyub stood protectively at the shoulder of his sultan Salah al-Din Yusuf ibn Ayyub while he stared out the window, his back to the room.

Hakim stared with bitter eyes upon the veiled woman and her teenage son. _My brother should have strangled her on their wedding night. He took her to wife in an attempt to appease the Shiites and only succeeded in bringing strife into his home. There is too much philosophical difference between Sunni and Shiite. How can two such different views come from the same teachings?_

"My husband . . .," Bita, Saladin's second wife began.

"Not a word," Saladin snarled at the pair.

The sound of a door opening broke the tense silence. Saladin took a careful breath as he turned to face the on coming pair. Ari, his favorite of his many uncles, was escorting the Ayatollah Tirdad ibn Bozorgmehr, father to Bita.

"Why have I been called here at this time of night?" Tirdad demanded arrogantly.

Saladin turned regally, his eyes paused on Hakim and Ari the two witnesses necessary for his actions to be legal. "I divorce thee, I divorce thee, I divorce thee," he spoke calmly and held out a scroll to Bita, thereby divorcing the woman by Islamic law.

"You can't do this," Bita hissed.

"Be silent woman," Tirdad ordered harshly. "What is the meaning of this?" the Ayatollah demanded.

"She has failed in her duties as a wife and as a mother. Twice before she has been warned that I will not tolerate her abusing my harem and my children. It is done," Saladin said calmly. "Take her from my house. I will hear nothing of her again."

"You would dishonor my family in this way?" Tirdad demanded harshly.

"If the boy dies she will be called into court." The sultan reminded.

"Come woman," Tirdad ordered spinning on his heel. _He will pay for this, Sultan he may be but I am the voice of the prophet. What boy?_

"Come Darek." Bita grasped the arm of her shocked son.

"He stays," Hakim snapped. "He is the son of Saladin and as such belongs to him. This is the law. Go now lest you be beaten from the door like a stray dog."

"No! He is **my** son," Bita protested.

"A child belongs to the father. Come now Bita," Tirdad snarled stalking toward the door with the stunned woman trailing behind.

No one spoke until Mele came to the door and bowed deeply before closing it, thereby indicating that the pair had left the palace.

"What am I to do with you?" Saladin looked upon his eldest son with bitter eyes. "Perhaps I should have left you among the children as my councilors advised. I thought only to make your path easier. Training you to your duties gradually instead of having them thrust upon you all of a sudden."

Darek scowled back with a defiant manner and arrogant look on his handsome face.

"You will prey upon those younger and weaker no longer. From this day forward you are forbidden to enter the harem. There is none there who will welcome you." Saladin ordered.

"I'm too old to play with babies anyway. I am a man," Darek interrupted his father.

"Age does not make a man." Saladin gritted his teeth and tightly grasped his robe with his right hand so as not to strike the boy. "There is more to manhood then swinging a sword and beating children. You are not a man." A sharp gesture cut off Darek's attempt to speak.

"Uncle, will you take this unworthy **BOY** and teach him how to **be** a man?" Saladin turned to Ari.

"Yusuf, he is your heir. My road is a most dangerous one, full of hardship and deprivation," Ari reminded his nephew gently.

"You can't do this," Darek snarled.

"This unworthy one is the son of no father," Saladin responded sharply. He disowned the boy with the words.

Darek's protests stopped and he stood pale, no longer defiant or arrogant, simply looking lost and bewildered.

"My firstborn son is dead. If this dishonored child proves himself a humble servant of God as well as a man. Then it might be possible that he could **earn **back his place in my house," Saladin spoke aloud but didn't look at the boy.

"Take him as the lowliest of your people. Let him earn his place in this world." Saladin turned to his uncle.

"I will take him," Ari agreed.

"Would you please wait in the anteroom for the boy?" Saladin asked.

"Certainly," Ari bowed and left the room.

"One whisper of your cruelty, one act of disrespect and you loose your place forever," Saladin turned to the boy.

"I won't go," Darek snarled.

"It is your choice. You may serve Ari as a vassal or be cast naked and waterless into the Empty Quarter, leaving your fate to Allah," Saladin responded calmly.

"For how long must I serve him?" Darek grumbled.

"Until you are a man, dead or I decide that you are unredeemable. Pray the day never comes boy. For on that day you will see me once more." Saladin answered coldly.

"I am the child of your body. Your eldest son," Darek protested.

"Emad is the child of my body as well, whom you may well have killed!" Saladin thundered. "If your brother dies you will be killed immediately."

**"Father!" **Darek's voice raised in shock as the repercussions of his actions finally hit home.

**"So be it done!" **Saladin turned his back to the boy.

"Go now, Ari waits," Hakim said coldly.

"Uncle Hakim?" Darek whispered.

"Go, I do not know you," Hakim ordered.

*******

"'Ladin," Hakim whispered.

"He was such a beautiful baby. Such a sweet natured child. Where did I go wrong? Now he is as twisted and cruel as his mother." Saladin sighed leaning on the window sill.

"Why is the sky blue?" Hakim huffed in exasperation. "The only thing you did wrong was not letting your harem guards strangle Bita after the boy was birthed." Hakim wrapped a comforting arm around his brother. "He had many chances to correct his behavior and did not. I will pray that he does not waste this last chance at redemption."

"I need to check on Emad," Saladin sighed tiredly.

"Hassan will send word when he is done. Better to stay out from underfoot." Hakim comforted. "If you had not arrived when you did . . . ," Hakim's voice trailed off.

"I have made a bitter enemy out of Ayatollah Tirdad ibn Bozorgmehr," Saladin reminded.

"He has never been a friend, Little Brother," Hakim growled. _I will follow up on those whispers that Roxanna was poisioned._

"What will you do if Darek fails this test?" Hakim asked worriedly.

"If he comes before me without Ari's blessing, I will have him castrated and his tongue removed cutting off his line forever. Afterwards he will be sold into foreign lands lest he shame his family further." Saladin growled. Hakim paled at the judgment. **"So be it done!" **Saladin hissed coldly and stalked out.

*******

"Oh child," Mele slipped into the quiet room and gathered the trembling Saladin into his arms. For long moments he simply rocked and held the sobbing man to his shoulder. Duty done, the Sultan was forgotten and now only the grieving father remained. _What do I do now? Praise Allah that Emad will live. How many of your own nightmares has this brought back, my son? _


	14. Chapter 14

Neti entered Saladin's chambers to discover absolute chaos. The old slave woman's eyes widened at the unheard of situation**,** Hakim was arguing with a disheveled Mele. Hakim stridently protested Mele's angry tirade while the unflappable major-domo whacked him repeatedly in the chest with a hair filled comb. The old man's voice thundered in fury at the reaction Hakim's thoughtless words had provoked. The Sultan Saladin was hanging over the edge of the balcony yelling at something.

"Enough!" Neti bellowed setting her basket down on a table with a thump.

An abrupt silence fell over the room. Guilty looks were exchanged and the combatants seem to shrink before her eyes. Mele smiled weakly and hid the comb behind his back.

**"Yusuf ibn Ayyub **did you say something?" The old nursemaid demanded sharply.

A guilty gasp greeted the demand. "Yes Ma'am." The sultan scrambled to his feet ducking his head and shifting his feet. He kept distractedly glancing over the balcony.

"What did you say?" Neti tapped her foot.

"Nothing that I should have," Saladin admitted sheepishly. "Neti, I am a grown man. I can curse if I want to," he blustered.

Neti's eyes narrowed. "There is no excuse for such behavior."

"But he . . . Yes Ma'am," Saladin sighed.

_Men, they all become children again when in difficulty. Now they expect me to make things right. _Neti sighed looking at the suddenly hopeful looks on the men's faces. "What has happened."

"It's all Hakim's fault," Mele said.

"Was not, if you hadn't been so rough," Hakim snapped back.

Neti's eyebrow raised and she simply stared at the men.

Mele closed his eyes and shook his head in disgust before flopping down onto a cushion. "I'm worse **than** the children. I know better."

Hakim squirmed under Neti's all seeing eyes. "It's my fault."

"What is your fault?" Neti growled trying to get to the bottom of the problem.

"I was trying to comb out the tangles in Shadow's hair . . . polish him up a bit before you got here. I didn't want you to na . . . be upset because we hadn't been taking proper care of the boy."

"And?" Neti scowled to hide the faint smile trying to curl her lips.

"The boy was squirming a bit. He was excited at the idea of meeting you," Hakim sighed.

"More like a whirling dervish," Mele put in.

"Mele decided I was taking too long and took over," Hakim studied the toe of his house slipper intently. "I tried to tell him you have to comb hair like that differently but he was determined to get it over with. Shadow was yelping and flinching and I lost my temper. Honest Neti I never would have said anything if I had known the boy would take it so poorly."

"What did you say? Where is the boy now? How did you let things get so out of hand, O mighty Sultan? You at least I expect some sense from. Mele's senile and Hakim will never be more than an overgrown child." Neti lambasted the men.

The trio talked over each other trying to answer Neti. "You, what did you say?" Neti pointed at Hakim.

"I suggested cutting his hair to make things easier," Hakim admitted. "The prophet said a man's hair should . . . " the words cut off abruptly at Neti's glower.

"Well you old fool. Hakim at least combs his daughters hair so had some concept of how to go about it." Neti walked over and took the comb away from the sheepish Mele and studied the knotted strands. "Were you trying to pull it all out?"

"I was impatient and Shadow suffered because of it." Mele admitted.

Neti turned to Saladin.

"I was busy trying to calm Shadow and get him back up here. Perhaps you will have better luck." The sultan indicated a spot below the balcony.

Neti and Hakim rushed to the balcony with Mele bringing up the rear in a most undignified scramble.

"Hakim get some of the guards and a large heavy cloth. Hold it tightly at waist height like a drum head. If he falls you might be able to catch him before he hits the ground," Mele ordered softly. Hakim nodded and hurried from the room.

"I will not allow them to cut your hair, little one," Saladin promised once more, as he leaned over the rail.

Neti grasped the rail tightly and took a quick peek over the side before leaning back with a distressed gulp. _He would be one of __those who__ climbs like a monkey. _"I thought Mele said he was blind?"

"He is," Saladin hissed.

_Maybe it's easier if you can't see down? _Neti peeked once more before stepping back from the edge and trying to calm her racing heart.

"Boy," Neti called shakily. "I thought you were going to visit with me this morning."

Saladin and Mele looked from the shaken Neti back down at the boy clinging calmly to the flowering vine some five feet below their reach.

"You are going to hurt Neti's feelings you know?" Saladin explained. _He seems safe enough where he is for the moment but how are we going to get him down from there?_

Shadow rested his forehead against the side of the palace, refusing to respond.

"Smells like she even made **honey cakes** for you. She doesn't do that for just anyone you know," the sultan noted.

"For me?" Shadow asked faintly.

"Well she certainly didn't make them for the rest of us." Saladin breathed a sigh of relief as Hakim and the guards took up position below them..

"She doesn't like me that much," Mele grumbled.

In disbelief the watchers stared as the boy easily scrambled up the branches and swung himself across the wide gap to the balcony without a care in the world.

"Hakim come up and we will talk with the boy," the sultan ordered.

"In a moment**.** I will find a gardener. If the boy can do that, so might an assassin," Hakim growled before stalking off leaving a pair of guards below the balcony until the situation was remedied.

7777777

_Well the gossips are certainly**,** right the boy is beautiful. _Neti studied the youngster.

"No harm seems to be done. Go wash your face and hands and we'll start our morning over," Saladin ordered gently.

The youngster returned shortly_**,**_ obviously freshly scrubbed. An attempt had been made to straighten his clothing and smooth his hair. Shadow ducked behind Saladin much to Neti's amusement.

"Neti, this is Shadow, the boy I wanted you to watch during the day," Saladin introduced.

"Hello Shadow, I'm Neti**.** I brought you some honey cakes for breakfast."

Shadow hesitantly moved out from behind the sultan. "For Shadow?"

"Yes, now sit down and eat your cake and I'll straighten out your hair," Neti ordered.

"Pleathe no, Shadow wath bad? the boy asked shakily while grasping his tangled curls protectively.

"Little one, what makes you think you did something wrong?" Saladin coaxed.

"Gonna cut hair . . . Not bad you thaid . . .," Shadow hiccupped.

"Must be something of his own people," Mele muttered.

"I am not about to cut your mane. I simply want to get the knots out and braid it for you," Neti soothed.

"Promithe," Shadow asked hopefully.

"I promise," Neti agreed.

The boy plopped down on a pillow and reached unerringly for that fascinating basket. Neti stared in disbelief at how easily the boy managed despite his blindness.

"He gets around very well doesn't he?" Mele offered faintly. _Amazingly well . . . unnaturally well. It must be a gift from Allah. Best we avoid strangers knowing of this . . . __It could get the boy killed._

"Tirdad ibn Bozorgmehr is already claiming the boy to be a Jin and that he has bespelled 'Ladin," Hakim warned quietly as he entered the room.

Worried looks were exchanged over the oblivious boy's head.

"We will have to consider this," Saladin finally said.

7777777

Neti hummed sweetly as she gently grasped a small section of hair and began working tangles out.

Neti paused for a moment when she revealed one of the boy's ears. Looking over at the sultan she raised an eyebrow. "Did you perhaps forget to tell me something?"

"No . . . he is simply a little boy that needs to be loved," Saladin answered quietly. "They suit him somehow do they not?"

Mele watched closely trying to figure out how she made it look so easy.

"Start at the bottom and do small sections," Hakim whispered in explanation.

Once the gleaming strands were combed Neti began a braid to keep the hair from becoming such a tangle once more.

"All done," Neti gently patted the boy's shoulder.

"Thank you." Shadow frowned a moment before muttering distractedly as he ran long fingers over the tamed hair. "Honor braid."

_The long hair is a sign of honor? It would explain why he was so upset over the idea of a hair cut. Shorn hair would be the sign of a coward or criminal to him. _Saladin studied the boy thoughtfully.


End file.
